Tempest: Prophecy
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Part 3 of "Tempest At War". The Door of Night has broken and the Void has been emptied. Dagor Dagorath is fast approaching. With time running short, the new arrivals must be well-equipped and ready for battle that will surpass all the battles Arda has witnessed. In progress. Part of the Green Leaves universe. Do read and review!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Do not own.

 **Important:** Please read this first. Welcome to the third part of Tempest At War. Please note a LOT has happened since the first part. Trying to read in between will lead to SPOILERS. And this prologue has all of the SPOILERS. If you are interested, kindly begin reading from Tempest: Modern Age before working your way here.

Also this story is now a **hard T**. Please, this is a war. There WILL be deaths, there WILL be brutality. I cannot change that.

Also, if this story does not suit your style, kindly press the back button. I will not apologize if this does not go along with your style, given the amount of warnings I am passing on.

Flames are not appreciated. Please, if you have nothing good to say, or your thoughts are one-sided, then kindly leave without a word.

Also, I apologize in advance for any grammatical and spelling mistakes occurring in these series. I am a busy person with a happily busy life and a wild imagination. My beta, too, is a busy person with a happily busy life. Again, I am no professional author (I wouldn't be here if I was).

* * *

 **PART 3**

 **TEMPEST: PROPHECY**

* * *

 **Introduction:**

 _So it begins._

 _My immortality is looked upon a gift by the Race of Men, and yet I wonder if it truly is a gift. My long years have shown me many things and yet the world is still capable of throwing something new at me to live with._

 _My thoughts are confused, jumbled. I do not know where to begin. This was Miranda's idea. We are supposed to keep journals, whether electronic or in writing, for the coming generations. We do not know if we are the ones to fight in the Battle of Battles. She can die… and so can I. Perhaps others will take our place and complete the prophecy of defeating Morgoth._

 _I do not know what to write here, so I will begin with the basics._

 _My name is Thranduil, son of Oropher. My father is distant kin of both Celeborn and King Thingol. My mother's name is Nemireth. I was born before the rising of the Sun in the city of Doriath. I spent most of my life less in court and more in the forest. I witnessed the coming of the sons of Fëanor. I witnessed the Sacking of Doriath, in which my mother died. We eventually made our way to Greenwood the Great._

 _My father later became king, and I was the prince and heir of Greenwood the Great. I befriended Fion. I married my wife, Arodien, who was one of the native Elves there. It was the Second Age, and a time of peace where we had our first child, Legolas. I witnessed the coming of Annatar to my father's court. I recognized the deceit in his words. I foiled his plans for Greenwood, for which I was not forgiven. Defiance, as I am often told, is my strongest trait._

 _My father died in the Last Battle, and I left him behind in what later became the Dead dear wife set sail, for her heart was no longer in the trees. My faithful son stood by me always when I was new to the crown. My duties were heavy on my shoulders but I was able to carry them through the years of Watchful Peace._

 _The War of the Ring came to pass, and I watched my son leave for a mission of an emissary only to join the Fellowship with that accursed Ring. Sauron will never cease haunting me or my family. Meanwhile I had a kingdom to look after and people to keep safe. I lost many comrades and friends. But the War of the Ring was won and Sauron was defeated and crippled, cast into the Void to stay with his mentor._

 _At the time there was peace. The Fourth Age came to pass and the time of Elves was over in Arda. Legolas was wed in Spring in the year he arrived to Aman. The moon was full the night of the feast and the people were merry. But I digress. Two years later, I had a grandson, Nimdir._

 _Then years upon years passed by and I wanted to return to Arda. I wanted to see what it had become. They were reluctant to let me go, but the years did not teach me the ways of the king for nothing. I got my way, even though the Forester warned me Arda might be harsher than I may remember._

 _I entered a world full of war and chaos, with Men thirsting for the blood of other Men, where colour and looks decided who was better than the rest. I landed in the wrong side of the World War, though at times I wonder if there was ever a right side of that war. From Germany I went to England and from England I went to America._

 _Lee Kraft was the name I gave myself, and I worked as a Homicide Detective in New York. I have tales plenty to share during my time there but my time is writing on this journal is limited. Perhaps another time. For the time, life was perfectly in motion. I had no one to take care of except myself, even though I missed my family greatly. I had no kingdom, no rules except the few._

 _Then everything changed with that paw-print case and the sudden appearance of my family at the docks. It turned out the happy life I was leading had much more in store for me than I originally thought. Things went from one way to the next. Dawn was the first to lose, a small girl barely a few years old. She did not deserve to die, especially for the fact that she knew me._

 _I met the Fëanoriannath next, and from there I went on to make my stronghold. My Ring I will not mention, for I do not know who will eventually get their hands on this journal. I am happy it stopped its visions. It gives me a peace of mind, not knowing what lies ahead. I will not question my decisions many times over. I built my stronghold here in Redwood Forest for my people._

 _Dagor Dagorath seems to occur on many forefronts. Bioterrorism governs the lands of the Haradrim in Africa. United Kingdom is no more. America has not yet spoken with other countries. Ukraine is no more. Nuclear assets are in danger, but I do not know where. My spy seems to have been wiped off the face of Arda, though I hope that is not the case._

 _Maedhros' wife, Glaweth, is dead, and I know not what has become of Fion. Do I still consider him a friend? I consider him a fool, certainly!_

 _And here I feel the past is certainly catching up to me. Ages upon Ages worth of past… I can feel it burdening my shoulders. Let us see what the future holds. For now, I must return to my duties._

 _Dated: 15th April, 2018_

* * *

 **Reply to:**

 **Enola Gay (guest):**

Why would I be offended? You just did me a huge favour. I have been looking for that story for ages so that I could tell my readers to go ahead and give it a read because it was one of my favourites (I was too busy to favourite it back then and I am not really good in remembering things). I forgot the plotline, the people in plotline, and the one who wrote it, and when it was written. I just knew it was Legolas in a modern setting.

You are right. There is a lot of resemblance. Although, please keep in mind that plagiarism was definitely not in my mind. When I chose Thranduil, I had a great deal of thought over his job which I came down to basic three: teacher, official status ( I did not give this one much thought because I rejected it in a matter of few minutes), a place in police force. Teacher was something I played far ahead until I realized Thranduil did not sit well with that job. I always pictured him a soldier who became king for some reason and so I went to the nearest thing possible: cop. I humbly apologize if it looked like I was copying off someone else's work. That certainly was not my intent, since my take on the story has completely deviated from the splendid stories you mention.

As far as the beta is concerned, I do have one, but we both live very busy lives since both of us are college-going and we have a difficult time communicating due to different time zones. Yes, the beta is a native speaker, but again, we do not have much time in our hands. Yes, I do cringe whenever I look at the spelling mistakes and grammar. I do try to remove as many as I could, and you have every right to tell me that I need to get them checked (in fact, when people say it, the more motivation I get!), but also please be considerate that at the moment I cannot, at least till winter vacations when my college finally loosens its chokehold!

Thank you,

Scribe.


	2. Celegorm

**Author's Note:**

The chapters are named according to the characters that have made entries into their diaries. The rest of the story will flow accordingly.

An extra long chapter. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _This is Celegorm, son of Fëanor, and today is 16_ _th_ _of April of the year 2018 in Georgian Calendar. I personally think this is a ridiculous exercise of keeping diaries, but no one will listen, so, here I am. I am not much one for writing, so a video log is the best that I could do. Not much has come to pass, save that which we expected. America is in shambles, the army has taken control of the country. We have heard of some rebel activity, but we have yet to confirm the fact._

 _In spite of the fact that Morgoth's coming is only two weeks old, there is surprisingly little activity. I was expecting some action, with all the events spiralling towards a brutal Dagor Dagorath but everything is very… boring. There is something going on in the world, yes, but there isn't much going on as of yet._

 _And that is precisely the reason why I am having a hard time with this video log. See? I told Miranda this was a worthless exercise._

 _And what else? Oh yes, I have accursed dragons hovering above my city._

 _Now I told Maedhros about it but since the dragons aren't doing anything, we hesitate from starting the fight from our end for fear of causing more harm than good. While these dragons are small and likely not as powerful as their larger brethren, in hoards they are just as dangerous._

 _And now if you will excuse me, I have more things to do than sit in this chair and stare at a webcam and talk as if I am talking to real people. Good day._

Celegorm glared at the webcam before sighing and getting up from his seat. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath about stupid diaries and foolishness. He grabbed his sword and hooked it to his belt. Adding to the fact that he wore no armour, it was no protection against the dragons, but the weight of the sword was comforting. He made his way outside onto the porch, where he found Kate standing there. The palace was built on high ground, overlooking the rest of the city on all sides. Kate stood at the very edge. The stars shone brightly down on them, raining the city with silver light.

"Any closer and you will fall right of," Celegorm said.

Kate stepped back a bit.

"You are worried." Celegorm said, coming to stand beside her.

"Do you think Alice can handle the mission?"

"She is very capable," Celegorm said. "And I should think so. I trained her myself."

Kate only nodded.

"The dead have set sail," Kate said.

"What?" Celegorm asked blankly.

Kate shook her head as if to clear it.

"That is what they keep saying."

Celegorm did not need to ask who 'they' were. It was almost like a codename that Kate kept for the dead she could see and who had the courage or the sanity enough to talk to her.

"Did they explain what they mean?"

"No, they just keep repeating it," Kate said.

"Anything else?"

"He said we will meet friends and foes of old," Kate said. "I do not know what that means either."

"Who said that?"

"A young Elf," Kate said. "Barely reaching his maturity; he told me he used to live on this island once."

Celegorm frowned. He was not aware of a lost child.

"Describe him to me."

"He is tall, but he is very young. And he is thin with sharp cheekbones and a reddish complexion. His eyes are grey with this lashes and his hair is cut short to his shoulders. He wears a ring on his middle finger of his right hand." Kate said. She stopped when she saw Celegorm's expression. "Why? Do you know him?"

Celegorm gave a sad smile.

"I think so. Caranthir's son, my nephew. We lost him at Sea."

"Ah." Kate said. She was so used to strangeness that the woman did not show any reaction.

"Does it ever bother you? Seeing the dead?"

"I am a girl who can see spirits," Kate said dryly. "Of course it creeps me out."

"Do you think you always so them?"

"I think so," Kate said after a pause. "Maybe I kept seeing people who were not truly there. None of them ever tried to speak to me, as far I remember. I do not know." Then she laughed, as if mocking herself. "You know they keep saying that I am gifted with seeing the dead because of the King and his people who broke their vows to Isildur. They were cursed. And their curse was broken when Elessar freed them from it after the Battle of Pelennor Fields."

"I do not know, Kate." Celegorm's voice was gentle. "But nothing happens without reason."

There was a current of wind and both of them looked up. Dragons circled high above them.

"I hate seeing them up there," Kate said. "I can't bear to see them, not after what I saw their fire could do in London."

"London is tragedy none of us could forget."

"I remember London a bit before my parents were divorced," Kate said. "He bought me ice cream." She frowned. "He told me kings were not only made by blood but also by what they were taught. And queens were just as strong as kings. I told my mom that. They had a fight soon after. I think he was trying to prepare me for this."

"Do you consider yourself as a queen?"

"I wouldn't trust myself with the life of one man, let alone a kingdom." Kate said with a snort. "No, I don't consider myself a queen."

Whatever Celegorm was about to say was forgotten when they heard a loud, high-pitched dragon war cry. Celegorm looked up. The dragons that had been forming concentric circles now broke form. One by one they flew low over the city.

"They are attacking!"

A dragon breathed fire over the outskirts of the city.

They heard high-pitched screams of children. Celegorm felt a sickening feeling in his gut. He clutched on to his sword's hilt as he ran. There was a vast ground nearby with colourful tiles where the children played and mothers watched. Celegorm went there and amidst the chaos and terror, he found his wife Himeth clutching onto two children.

"Get the Ellyth and the children into the channels," He ordered his wife. "Where is Arthien?" Celegorm asked, eyes suddenly searching for his only child and daughter.

"There!"

Celegorm turned just in time to see his daughter ride a horse bareback, her platinum hair that she inherited from her father streaming behind her. She grabbed a child and put him on the horse before dismounting. She slapped the horse's behind and shouted to other Ellyth who followed her in protecting the children.

"That's your daughter." His wife said dryly.

"You taught her to act like a lady." Celegorm returned in the same dry manner. "Go! Make for the mountains before it is too late! GO!"

The Hunters were gathering swiftly. Himeth pressed her hand against his cheek, and he felt her unwillingness to leave his side. But Celegorm would have none of it. He roughly pushed her hand away and pushed her towards the rest of the Ellyth fleeing for refuge.

"Go! I am not as strong as Maedhros! GO!"

The Hunters came to him and two of them quickly grabbed the princess without Celegorm needing to ask for it and ushered her to safety. Celegorm turned his attention towards the dragons circling above them.

"CLEAR THE MARKETPLACES!" Celegorm bellowed. "GET THE CHILDREN AND ELLYTH TO SAFETY!"

His captains were shouting the same orders, letting waves of the commands spread among the Hunters and Companions.

"Glandír! I want the missiles up and ready!" Celegorm shouted over the screams of the attacking dragons.

No sooner had he said this, most of the dragons swooped in, claws out. They let out ear-splitting shrieks as their powerful claws and bodies brought down the towers. Celegorm clenched his jaw. With the missile launchers dismantled, they were in more trouble.

"Change of plans," Celegorm hissed. "Find me explosives, and find a way to launch them in the air!"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And find me the rocket launchers and blow these dragons out of the sky!" Celegorm shouted after him.

"INCOMING!"

Celegorm turned and then sprinted. The building he was standing near crumbled to the ground where he had been stranding. He was helped up and he looked over to his ally.

"He wants you!" Kate shouted over the chaos. "That's why the dragons were here! They want you!"

Celegorm looked at her in mild annoyance. Kate was a valuable asset. He was not about to lose her to a skirmish. He ignored her warning and searched for a familiar face.

"Alphon! Take her to safety and protect her with your own life if need be!" Celegorm ordered the Hunter. The Elf nodded and swiftly swooped down on Kate, who tried to break free but to no avail. The woman may be strong but she was no match to a Noldo's strength.

"He doesn't want me!"

"I am not taking chances!" Celegorm snapped.

They heard a loud explosion and a dragon's cry of pain. Celegorm looked up to see another rocket launch into the air and successfully hitting a dragon. The rocket launchers were distributed among the Ellyn, resting on one shoulder of each. Everything was happening too fast. Then Celegorm heard a loud cry, louder than that of the rest of the dragons. A familiar dragon appeared its form easily recognizable.

"Smaug," Celegorm hissed. The dragon soared above him many times before landing right in front of him. His long tail whipped back, throwing many Ellyn off their feet. Smaug circled about Celegorm until it was only him and the dragon. Smaug's tail whipped forward, colliding against Celegorm's legs and throwing him off balance.

Celegorm's heart thudded in his chest. The dragon tilted his head till he glared at the Elf with one large eye. It bared its teeth, revealing rows of yellowing teeth. Celegorm scrambled backwards with his hands and legs, before clenching his jaw. He was Fëanorian! He refused to show fear or bow down to them. Smaug gave a low chuckle before stepping forward and clamping his body down with one claw.

Celegorm's breathing was cut off as the dragon slowly applied more pressure on his chest. But it was not enough to break ribs like before. Still, it was painful. A shadow crossed over his face as Smaug leaned over him.

"Anyone else shoots, and you will be cleaning your prince off the marketplace tiles," Smaug grumbled. His rich voice rolled in the air. Celegorm tried to order his Hunters to continue their attack but his mouth only opened in an effort to breathe.

Smaug's claw pressed harder on Celegorm, which prompted a shout of pain. Then Smaug's claw tightened around his chest. Suddenly he was in air, head dangerously dangling back. Celegorm fought to keep a levelled head, to keep the nausea at bay, but the light-headedness was getting to him. The shouts of his Hunters swiftly died away as they gained altitude. Finally, Celegorm surrendered to the darkness.

oOo

 _Red Palace,_

 _Tol Antanë,_

Maglor couldn't believe his ears.

"My brother was kidnapped by a hoard of dragons?" Maglor asked.

"That's just about right." Anuben said, nodding. Maglor sighed.

"How many dragons were killed?"

"Two."

"Two," Maglor repeated. At this rate, they would never be able to win Dagor Dagorath. They had to find a way to kill more dragons. "And how many did we lose?"

"Twenty killed, and fifty were injured," Anuben said.

"Those numbers are not in our favour." Maglor said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Anuben, find me some answers on how to dispose of many dragons at once." Anuben nodded. "And where is Maedhros?"

"He is in his rooms," Anuben said after some hesitation. Maglor stopped.

"I am sorry. What?"

"He is in his rooms," Anuben said warily. Maglor inhaled and exhaled deeply. Anuben still looked at him with wariness. Maglor couldn't blame him. Maedhros and Maglor had common tempers, ones that made the hardest soldiers go begging for mercy at their knees.

"I see." Maglor said in a measured tone. "Go. Get the task I set for you done."

"And Lord Celegorm?"

"The Hunters are looking for him. Let them continue that. I need to speak to my brother." Maglor said. Anuben nodded and hastily left. Nobody liked coming in the way of either Maedhros or Maglor when they had a temper.

Maglor found Maedhros' rooms only semi-lit. The curtains were drawn and he heard dim sounds of running TV. Turning left, he found Maedhros lounging on a couch in front of the TV. Maedhros looked eerie in the light coming from the TV.

"What are you doing?"

"Having a drink," Maedhros said quietly. He raised his glass to his lips and did not look at his brother. His eyes were trained on the TV.

"Having a drink," Maglor repeated. "Our brother has been captured."

"I heard."

"And here you are, having a drink."

"I could hardly grow wings and look for him myself."

"Ah." Maglor said. The tension in the air was almost palpable. "Yes, you are right. You couldn't do that."

There was a sound as Maedhros placed the glass on the table.

"What you could do is get off that lazy arse and come and work."

"You are doing fine without me."

"Right, so that you can brood in the half-darkness." Maglor said.

"You can call me when I am required."

"When you are required. When you are required? Maedhros, our island is without any protection from the Valar. We are finally called to do what we were reborn for and here you are asking me to call you when you are required!"

"Maglor, you are more than capable to lead our people."

Maglor wasn't sure he was hearing him right.

"Pull yourself together!"

"Maglor, go back to your reports."

"You are our leader," Maglor ground out. "You are the eldest. You are the king-"

"I am no king."

Maglor's temper snapped. He lunged at his brother and grabbed his collar. The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the ground. Maglor ran him backwards until Maedhros' back slammed hard against the wall.

"What has gotten into you?" Maglor demanded. "Two weeks! We are running towards a war and here you are drowning yourself in sorrow-"

"I am allowed to mourn!"

"You are NOT mourning!" Maglor said. "You are hiding yourself from everyone! What's wrong, brother?" Maglor spat out the word that described their relationship, "Has Morgoth's coming frightened you? Did you revert back to the Thrall? To a coward?"

Maedhros' eyes blazed in white fury.

"Careful, Maglor," Maedhros' voice was low and dark. "There is only so much I can listen from even brothers."

Maedhros tried to let lose but Maglor's grip was strong. They shifted sideway, toppling a table and sending the glassware on it crashing onto the ground.

"I will speak as I please! You will return to your duties, Maedhros! I will not have you slowly pushing yourself into misery till you Fade!"

"AND WHAT IS IT TO YOU WHETHER I FADE OR NOT!"

"I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ENDANGER US ALL!" Maglor roared.

They heard a sniffle and both of them froze.

A small figure lurked at the open doorway, pressed against the wooden doorframe. She clutched a doll hard to her chest, grey eyes full of tears. She saw everything. Maglor looked at his grandniece and swiftly let go of Maedhros. The Elf shot Maglor an annoyed look, straightened his shirt and approached the infant. Kneeling down, he enveloped her in his arms, hand patting her curly red hair to still the sobs.

"I will return her to her mother." Maedhros said quietly. Both brothers ignored the toppled table and the shattered glass. Maglor nodded wordlessly and sank on to the couch.

When Maedhros returned, he sat beside Maglor. Both of them had the same manner to sit, Maglor thought idly. Legs spread apart, back bent, elbows resting on thighs and fingers crossed together.

"I am no king," Maedhros said quietly.

"You are right," Maglor said flatly. "You are a fool."

oOo

 _Unknown Location,_

 _Arda,_

He was lying on cold, hard ground.

Celegorm shifted lazily. His cheek was pressed against the ground. He could feel the small stones digging into his skin. He turned his body around, pressing both palms on the rough ground before opening his eyes and raising his head. His head felt heavy. His hair fell forward as he slowly and carefully raised himself to look at his surroundings. The nausea that came with consciousness was quickly disappearing.

He was in some form of a large cave with many pillars to hold up the high ceiling. He saw the cave had no plant life within it, and the stone was dull grey. Fires were lit about him, but he could not see what the fuel was, and the fires left the entire cave in full light. In one corner, he saw a silver stream of starlight, which told him it was an opening outside.

And Celegorm wasn't alone.

All around him, many pairs of eyes watched his every move. The dragons had yellow eyes with black slits in the middle. These dragons were smaller than the ones that attacked Celegorm's city. Some were seven to eight feet from nose to tail. But others were taller, their bellies wider and neck thicker till they were as large as elephants.

"Cold-drakes," Celegorm murmured. They had no wings, crawled on earth and bore no fire. But they were deadly in their own way. One of them came close, its claws glittering silver in the fire. Celegorm leaned back. He had never confronted cold-drakes before. But he had heard varying tales, of how their claws bore poison and such, but such wild rumours only told him how little they knew of dragons. But the dragon came forward, laid its head on his lap and breathed through its nostrils. Celegorm stayed still. He was stunned. What was this? But the drake made no move to attack him, and other drakes looked at him in the same curious manner. Celegorm could feel the drake's breath shift the cloth of his trousers, its eye staring up at him. Celegorm hesitated and then gingerly ran his hand over the drake's neck. It stayed where it was.

"Why did you bring me here?" Celegorm asked softly. The drake's eye widened and it blew out of its nostrils in one great huff before raising its head. Claws tapped against the stone. The drake dragged its claws over the stone, making deep cuts into it. Celegorm stored the information in his mind; they had strong claws enough to cut through stone. Celegorm watched in fascination. And then he realized these were no senseless marks; these were letters… Tengwar.

"You are intelligent," Celegorm said in surprise. "Though not gifted for speech." The drake nodded.

Celegorm shifted forward and sat cross-legged when the drake was finished. Celegorm read the awkward script.

Smaug will answer.

"Wonderful," Celegorm muttered. At the mention of Smaug, his chest began to hurt; where he had no doubt that a large animal's print in the form of bruise would wait for him to see if he dared lifting his shirt. At the moment, he was not too keen. He liked having the flimsy protection of a shirt against the razor-sharp teeth and claws of drakes surrounding him. There were a sound of many wings flapping in the air and the drakes scrambled behind him. Celegorm looked at the entrance warily.

More dragons appeared out of nowhere, in beautiful colours of green, brown and blue. Celegorm looked at them in half-admiration, now that he knew he was in no danger… yet. Morgoth had certainly put an effort in them. These were perfect killing machines, beautiful and elegant in their own way. These were fire-drakes, with wings and fire in their bellies. They were just as tall as the cold-drakes that took refuge behind him. Celegorm supposed that the fire-drakes considered themselves superior.

One of the fire-drakes slithered forward. These smaller drakes were more reptilian in looks, with small, tightly-packed scales than their larger brethren. Clamped tightly in its jaws was some form of animal. The drake opened it mouth and let a dead rabbit drop at Celegorm's feet. Then the drake took in a deep breath and exhaled. Fire spurted out from between its jaws, cooking the rabbit in a matter of seconds. The drake crawled backwards and watched him expectantly. Celegorm stared at the drake and then down at the rabbit.

"Well, at least it's not raw." Celegorm said to himself, but it was loud enough for the drakes to hear. The hunter who brought the rabbit bared its teeth in what looked like a grin. But then Celegorm wasn't sure. Maybe it was showing its displeasure. Or maybe it was sneering at him.

Celegorm took the rabbit with great hesitation. The rabbit's fur was burned away and the charred skin was black and rough to the touch. But it pulled away easily, revealing well-cooked meat inside. Celegorm looked up at the fire-drake before pulling away a part of the meat and eating it. It was not seasoned, and therefore quite bland, but it was edible, and it soothed his grumbling stomach. Meat was plenty. Celegorm only ate half of the rabbit. One of the cold-drakes nudged him from behind until he stood. He was assured to a narrow shelf in the corner, where there was mountain water trickling and pooling on the ground. He drank from it before looking at the dragons again, this time in wonder. For all their power, their danger, they seemed to possess some form of morality.

"I do not know what you want from me." Celegorm murmured, kneeling to pat the smallest of the drakes. This one had wide doe-like eyes, with long limbs and too-small figure. The way it moved awkwardly on its claws made him guess this was most likely an infant. "But you wouldn't want me dead if you are feeding me."

Suddenly, a wave of biting cold weather rolled into the cave. Celegorm wore no protection for chills, and he shivered involuntarily. One of the smaller dragons turned its head in a confused manner before scrambling to his side and curling its entire length around Celegorm. The Elf suddenly found himself enveloped in warmth. Celegorm awkwardly ran a hand over the drake's length. The scales gave a rough look but were actually smooth and hard in touch. The drake gave a low rumble. The cave was steadily darkening as the light from outside dimmed. Celegorm supposed the stars hid for the night. The fires were lit by the fire-drakes and Celegorm found that he was the only Elf among what he supposed were almost a hundred drakes. All of the drakes found spots where they curled for sleep. Some of them cuddled, always in pairs. Celegorm stared at them. Were they mates? Celegorm twisted his head around, sudden realisation sinking in. He caught glimpses of eggs, protected between the forelimbs of many drakes. There were parents here. He was in a nest! That begged more curiosity. Why was he trusted enough to be allowed into a nest?

These drakes were certainly intelligent, he mused. He lay flat on his back, the drake curling about him to give him warmth. They seemed loyal if they were taught what loyalty was, and he knew they would be as good as any beast trained by Men, Elves and Dwarves.

"You lot as pets," Celegorm mused. "I think I could live with that."

All of a sudden, he imagined himself as his younger form, eagerly carrying a baby dragon into his arms and presenting it to his mother, whom he almost always found in the kitchens or in her art room, begging to keep it.

In spite of himself and the situation he was in, Celegorm laughed.

oOo

 _Houses of Healing,_

 _Tol Antanë,_

He could feel someone watching him with eyes boring right at the nape of his neck. And he knew precisely who it was.

"You shouldn't be here." Amras said conversationally. He raised his head from the microscope and took off the slide with an inward sigh. Yet another failed vaccine. Then he turned at the waist. "You shouldn't even be walking."

Arodien gave a faint smile.

"I was bored." She said. She rubbed her arms and looked around. Amras couldn't blame her. The research labs were very cold. She wore a dress he asked the maidens to supply her with, a white gown with a dark grey cloak, though now he knew the cloak did not ward off cold. In the large cloak, she looked small, fragile.

"Come, I think we should go elsewhere." Amras said, taking of his lab coat and hanging it near the entrance before guiding the queen outside.

"How goes the research?"

"Not as well as I had hoped, but I think we are close." Amras said. "How are you feeling?"

"Well," Arodien said. "The pain from my leg is mostly gone, and my son is restless."

"He has some more months to go." Amras said.

"I worry about the time when it comes. With all this…happenings," Arodien said, slipping her hand on Amras' elbow.

"You will be safe here," Amras promised. "No harm shall come to you or your child."

Arodien only inclined her head.

"I wasn't meant to walk this early," Arodien said. Amras cast her puzzled look. Arodien looked up to meet his gaze. "I had a bullet wound that cut through my femoral artery. I heard the nurses speak. This was supposed to be a messier operation, and still messier recovery. But look at me. I am walking about as if it were only a substantial cut." Amras slowed down, pulling them both to a halt. "Now why would that be?"

Amras stared at her for a moment.

"It was an experimental technique," Amras said, "Grafting of stem cells into a wounded area to accelerate healing. We are still testing it."

Arodien raised her brows in surprise but Amras knew that it was all pretend. She had known. He had underestimated her.

"And what would my lord husband say to that?" Arodien asked. "That is, if he by any chance found out that you used his wife and queen as a lab rat?" She gave him a small smile.

Amras stared at her. Then he chuckled.

"You may not look like much, my lady, but you are sharper than I thought."

"I am a daughter of an advisor," Arodien said. Her smile remained.

"Maybe I could interest you in something the lady likes in exchange of silence with regards to your lord husband?"

Arodien raised a brow.

"You are buying my silence?"

"Something like that," Amras returned. Arodien studied him carefully.

"You wouldn't threaten the delivery of my child to keep me silent?"

Amras' look darkened and he stepped back.

"Never, my lady. I will threaten no person or child no matter what Race. Those days are behind me as they are behind my brothers."

This time when the queen smiled, it was a warm one.

"And that is how you will buy my silence." Arodien said. "Keep your trinkets. I have my answer that the sons of Fëanor have not lost all moral."

"You would trust me now, after knowing what I did?"

Arodien's expression changed.

"I think it will be different this time around." Arodien said. "There will be no complete good or evil among the Elves, but varying shades of grey."

To that Amras had no answer.

oOo

 _Harbour,_

 _Tol Antanë,_

"This is insane," his advisor muttered to him.

"It isn't if I get some answers." Caranthir said.

"You are suggesting that even the water-sprites had a hand in all of this!"

"Thranduil's ship crashed near Germany with Saruman's persuasion of some water creatures." Caranthir said. "I want to know who."

His advisor only sighed and shook his head. Caranthir went down on his knees at the edge of wooden board and dipped his hand into the seawater.

"Zeze, I need to speak to you."

The water-sprite appeared moments later.

"You called me?" Zeze asked.

"I did. This is something that can only be answered by you and your sisters."

"What is it you want to ask?"

"Tell me first, do you hear all that goes on at Sea?"

"Of course, we help control the Sea."

"Can you tell me what caused Thranduil's ship to crash?" Caranthir asked. Zeze frowned.

"That is not your concern," she said. "Our fights are our own."

"You hid this from us."

"The land-beings have nothing to do with what occurs in Sea."

"It does concern us when we lose our people to it." Caranthir said firmly. Zeze set her jaw and made to return underwater, but Caranthir grabbed her arm.

"Zeze, I will not tolerate this." Caranthir said firmly.

Zeze twisted her lips in displeasure and stayed silent for so long that Caranthir began to think she would not answer.

"Not all the water-sprites are friendly," Zeze finally said. "Like Olwë's temperament, the water-sprites are split. We are friendly to all the land-beings, but the others are not."

"Hence the legends of mermaids bringing down the ships of Men," Caranthir said.

"Legends often spring from truths," Zeze said. "All of us have varying personalities. Some of us are completely good, full of kindness. But there are same as unpredictable as the Sea we live in. And then there are others, who not only kill the land-beings, but feast on them. They have fallen far into the darkness. But just as they are wild, they are easily persuaded. They are gullible to do anything as long as it is to their liking."

"Saruman used them to bring down Thranduil's ship."

"And your son," Zeze added. Caranthir felt a stab of old pain in his heart. Zeze's look softened. "I am sorry. There was nothing we could do when it happened."

"And how many are these dark water-sprites?"

"By the hundreds," Zeze said. "They live deep in the Sea, where no light touches the waters, where no life lives. They only come out in the storms to bring down ships and feast on the dead."

"Are they enough to bring down the ships from Aman?"

Zeze remained silent but her expression said it all. Caranthir immediately rose to his feet and turned his attention to his advisor.

"Get me Círdan," Caranthir ordered. "We have a problem."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Bless brothers! My bro worked some magic on my laptop and viola! It works! Even better, he managed to recover my writing! Oh, I love my laptop! It is a little worse for wear after getting attacked, poor thing, but it works! I should be up and running in a few days.

Please leave a review? It will be wonderful if you do. :)

 **List of Canon and OCs:**

-I mentioned Caranthir losing his child to the sea in "Tempest: Stronghold".

-I do not consider Kate as a leader, but rather like an average human being thrust with responsibilities.

-Cold-drakes and Fire-drakes are canonic.

-The variation in dragons in sizes, speeches, and such stemmed from the idea that the famous dragons in Tolkien world like Glaurung, Smaug and the rest have some difference or the other, which led me to believe that there has to be some 'lesser' dragons.

-The 'dark' water-sprites are OCs. They do not live in the Tolkien world. They are mostly inspired from mermaid legends.

-On Maglor and Maedhros- I think Thranduil had seen only a part of their personalities in "Tempest: Stronghold". I mentioned in the notes before as well, I consider them allies in this story, but dangerous ones at that. They are still fey, in some ways.

-Amras- People may think Arodien is forgiving him too quickly but remember one of the worst things about war is all the politics behind it. That is what really makes war messy. There is no good or evil side in war. There is no black and white picture. And sometimes you have to make your enemies your closest allies.

-Celegorm- I do not really know why, but I always imagined him with a mocking sort of a humor. A little bit sarcastic and domineering when he want to be but still a good person in some things.


	3. Olwë

**Chapter 2**

 _War is never just about the oncoming battle and songs of wrath, glory and victory. You need troops, weapons, cavalry, food supplies, medical supplies, ways to boost morale and this is only for the army. You need men and women with power as well as the inclination to support you. You need scouts and spies for the enemy. You need resources to fund your army and at the same time support their families and reign over the people so those with normal lives may continue to live on as if nothing has happened._

 _No, was has no glory except when it is so old that myths and legends surround it. When it is fresh, it is full of tales told by mothers' tears, widows' cries and a bloody terrain._

 _War is a grim and the burden upon the sovereign of the land is great indeed._

 _As High King of the Teleri, I know the burden that has befallen me. And I accept it fully with no qualms. I knew such a day would come eventually when I was reborn. Mistakes I will make, I am sure, but I will not make the ones I made that led to the First Kinslaying._

 _I do not think all are as ready as I am and perhaps some are too eager for this position. I have heard some disturbing rumours among the Silvan and the Sindarin Elves that has put me to worry. Perhaps there are just rumours. If not, then I will address it. At the moment, I will keep my silence._

 _The ships have set sail. Aman is no more. When I looked upon Alqualondë for the last time, I saw orcs milling about the harbour. We were driven from our own homes; homes that we spent Ages to build and decorate for our leisure. Aman, it seems, was only a temporary haven._

 _Of all things, I did not expect the dead to return, especially of Men, Dwarves and Halflings. I never saw a Man before and I must say I am now very curious of Arda, and what it may hold. My people are shaken but are hopeful as am I. we are the Teleri; our hearts never settle and that is why change is easy to come by._

Amrothos peered down in the endless depths of the Sea. The dark waters were constantly churning against the wind for some time but there were no signs of a storm. The skies were clear and so the water's movement was unnatural. The Elves were worried.

"The Sea is my mistress," Erchirion said in some humour beside him. "The air and freedom she gives."

"Adrian used to say that," Amrothos said to his brother with a grin. He looked up. High above them, the Great Eagles of Manwë circled the ships, their wings creating new currents of air. "Yes, before he settled eventually with a widow and her two children."

"Does any of this feel strange to you?" Erchirion said.

"The fact that we are back in these bodies? Or the fact that we are young after growing old and dying? Or the fact that we met the Valar and saw Aman? Or the fact that we are now going back to Arda to take part in a battle for the end of the world?"

Erchirion chuckled.

"All of it," he said.

"It's insane." Amrothos told him. "Maybe all of this is happening in my head."

"Tell your head to stop then."

"It can't," Amrothos said gravely. "I was dropped on my head when I was a child. My imagination always runs wild since then."

Suddenly a small figure barely waist high appeared between them with a short curly brown hair and dressed in the same white clothes as they were.

"Isn't it wonderful?" The Hobbit exclaimed, looking up. "What fun! All of us are together and we get to meet Legolas again!" Erchirion looked down at the Hobbit before bursting into a laugh he quickly turned into a cough.

"I don't think this was meant to be considered fun, Master Pippin." Amrothos said, while Erchirion stifled his chuckles. "We are at the end of the world, after all. Poor Elves just lost their homes."

"I would not precisely call Aman home, Master Amrothos," Elrond said, appearing beside the Amrothian. "I feel as if it was only a place to ease our hearts and give us respite."

"Not that it had any effect," Elrohir remarked.

"What was it like? Aman?" Erchirion asked in curiosity.

"Like a beautiful lie frozen in time." Elrohir said bitterly. They did not ask further.

On a ship leading the hundreds of ships behind them, Manwë looked up at the starlit sky with growing worry.

"Still no news of Varda?" Oromë asked in a soft murmur.

"None," Manwë said. "I do not know where she is. Not after Valmar was sacked."

"She is alive."

"Yes, I know. She is alive, but her heart is full of sorrow."

A star shot up into the sky, joining its brethren.

"She is out there, somewhere," Oromë said, looking up as another star appeared in the sky.

"Hope," Manwë said. "That is what she gave to the Peoples of Arda. Hope. And she gave the Elves more stars in the sky, for she knew the Elves loved her creations."

"Olwë's worried."

"I know."

"So is Ulmo."

"I know."

"These water-sprites are not friendly."

Manwë did not bother to say that he knew.

"They will try to sink the ships, especially the ones that bear the Race of Men."

"Yes." Manwë said. "How do you fight the Sea when it is on ships that you sail?"

Oromë was silent.

"I do not know."

"I do not know either." Manwë sighed. "I am tired, Oromë. I am tired like never before. With each step that my brother takes, with each step that his power strengthens, mine weakens."

"And with yours, we weaken as well." Oromë said. Fatigue was written clear along the lines of his face. "I want to rest, Manwë."

"And we cannot." Manwë said. "They need our help." The King of the Valar turned around to look at the fleet of the ships behind him. "The Free Peoples of Arda need us."

"We will be nothing to them if we do not catch our strengths." Oromë rested his hand on Manwë's shoulder. "We need sleep. We need to heal."

Whatever Manwë meant to say was forgotten. Suddenly the Eagles above them gave a loud shriek of warning. Manwë looked up sharply and then ran and looked over the edge. The Sea looked darker, and the waters were more turbulent.

Suddenly a water-sprite jumped out of the water, shrieking, her arms reaching for Manwë. The Vala stepped back and Oromë pulled out his sword and embedded it into the water-sprite's chest. Manwë pulled out his own sword.

"Let's just worry about these water-sprites first." Manwë said dryly.

"Right." Oromë said with the same dryness.

"They are attacking the fleet!"

Manwë turned around just in time to see one of the ships, covered in the water-sprites, slowly sink into the Sea. He took a step towards it but Oromë stopped him.

"You can't save everyone, Manwë."

"They weren't brought from the dead to die again."

"Manwë," Oromë said. "Let it go."

The ship sank and Manwë let it go.

On the Gondorian ship, they had their own problems.

"I wish Andúril was in my hand." Aragorn said, grabbing the water-sprite off Faramir and throwing her over the edge.

"I think all of us are wishing this." Faramir said, grabbing his king's wrist and pulling him to the middle of the ship.

"LADY ARWEN!" Amrothos shouted. The warning came just in time. A water-sprite leaped out, her fingers spread claw-like and would have caught onto Arwen's white gown had Faramir not pushed her to the side. The water-sprite grabbed onto Faramir instead. The water-sprite gave a screech and her teeth were bared.

"I thought water-sprites were soldiers of Ossë!" Faramir said, covering the queen with his own body. "He should be able to control them!"

"Like Ossë's split nature, his soldiers have the same nature as he does." Arwen said. "My brothers!'

Faramir turned to see Elrohir on the floor, wrestling a water-sprite in his grasp. Her teeth were bared and aiming for his neck.

Elladan shot the water-sprite. The sprite shrieked and slumped over Elrohir. Elrohir crawled out from under her.

"I think they like you Elrohir!" Elladan said.

"I already have a wife, thank you!" Elrohir retorted. The two brothers crawled back out of reach. "Why don't you go after them? After all, I remember you having a liking for all stories with water-sprites."

"Oh, I outgrew them."

"Any plans on how to destroy them?" Aragorn asked.

"Fire." Elrohir only said.

"And how will you-" Faramir's voice died down in his throat.

Two ships away, they could see Finrod and other Elves throwing glass bottles into the Sea. Then they threw torches. The surface of the Sea erupted in fire.

"What is that?" Imrahil asked.

"Flammable oil that cannot be quenched by fire," Elrond said. "Finrod was working on it."

The water-sprites moved back, snarling and shrieking. The Eagles swept down and flew low enough for the Elves to jump on their backs, large satchels in the hands.

"You do know these ships can catch flames as well." Amrothos said.

"Ulmo will take care that none of the fires reach us."

They watched as the water-sprites drew back until they eventually disappeared.

"How many ships did we lose?"

"Three," Elrond said.

Slowly the fires died away.

"They have gone underwater to lick their wounds." Amrothos gloated.

"Don't gloat." Imrahil warned him. "They might be back."

"I do not think so." Elrond said.

"Look!" Sam said suddenly. Everyone looked in the direction where Sam's finger pointed. A ship was sailing parallel to theirs and Éomer stood facing them.

"Give me back my wife!" Éomer yelled over the distance. Aragorn and the rest chuckled.

"Or what?" Aragorn challenged.

"Or I will come and personally get her after beating you to pulp!"

"You threaten to take my sister!" Erchirion said.

"She is my wife! And I will have my wife by all means as possible!"

"Of course," Amrothos retorted. "It's not like we just fought of hoards of lusty-"

"Bloodthirsty, Amrothos," Erchirion corrected.

"Oh, that's right, bloodthirsty water-sprites who wanted to feast on our bodies." Amrothos said.

"That's precisely why I want my wife back!" Éomer said.

"You will have her back after we dock!"

"You had better do that, or we will be at war!" Éomer called. Everyone laughed.

"Try not to fight," Elrond said mildly. "I need you all alive for Dagor Dagorath."

"The Rohirrim are difficult to please without a fight, Master Elrond." Frodo said quietly. Elrond chuckled.

"So it would seem."

"Think of it, Mister Frodo," Sam said, placing his hands around Frodo and Merry's shoulders. Pippin threw his own arm around Merry's shoulders. "The Fellowship will be reunited again when we reach Arda and Mister Boromir and Legolas with us."

Frodo smiled, his face lighting up at the prospect.

"Now that will be a sight to see, Sam."

On another ship, Manwë, Oromë and Tulkas stood side by side, facing the land that steadily grew larger as they drew near. The King of the Valar glanced at Oromë.

"You don't look too happy." Manwë observed.

"I am not." Oromë said.

"I wonder why."

There was a hint of amusement in the otherwise tired tone of Manwë's voice.

"There is no reason." Oromë said. Tulkas chuckled.

"How angry do you think Thranduil is with you?"

Oromë grimaced.

"I would think he might be a little bit upset."

Tulkas snorted.

"That, my friend, is an obvious understatement."

oOo

 _Galadhrim's Settlement,_

 _Japan,_

Dorián glowered up at the ceiling. There was only one opening, square in shape and fortified by bars that provided light into his prison cell.

"My king won't tolerate this!" He shouted. "Haldir! Tell your Lord and Lady that I am not telling them anything and they should let me go!"

No one answered.

"You won't get anything from my laptop!" Dorián called out. "I wiped it."

"I noticed." Galadriel appeared, breaking the steady stream of light.

"You know I know why King Thranduil considered you similar to the spawn of Morgoth."

Galadriel's face broke into a sorrowful smile.

"You have become bitter, Dorián." Dorián said nothing. "Tell me what you have found."

"Forget it."

"Dorián, do you truly believe Thranduil is capable?"

"More capable than you. For all your power, Lady of Light, you are still very much narrow-minded." Dorián said. Galadriel failed to become angry.

"I am not here to argue with you. Come, you will be set free."

"Why?"

"I am sending you back to Thranduil in good faith."

"Good faith," Dorián snorted. "You didn't get what you wanted. Why would you let me go?"

"Because of me," Mithrandir said, appearing beside Galadriel. "Let him up, please. I would like to deliver him to Thranduil intact."

The walls of his prison cell changed from dark walls to transparent ones before disappearing. He was in a larger room, with a door open in a corner. Galadriel and Mithrandir both came down from the staircase.

"Wonderful," Dorián muttered. "You made a prison to remind me of Dol Guldur."

Galadriel looked apologetic but he waved her away. Haldir was nowhere to be seen.

"Did Haldir know I was here?"

Galadriel's long silence told him no, he did not.

They were passing through the guards control room. Dorián stumbled. As he did, he grabbed the table and placed the bug underneath its table top.

"I thought you looked after him well."

"I did." Galadriel looked worried.

"I am fine."

They were given a private jet.

"You are angry with me." Galadriel said.

"Not so much now," Dorián said with a smile.

"Farewell, Dorián," Galadriel said.

"Farewell." Dorián said and left to enter the jet without another word.

"He has revenge planned." Galadriel said.

"How do you know?"

"He isn't Thranduil's spy for nothing."

Mithrandir said his own farewells to Galadriel and entered the private jet. Dorián sulked, sitting in a window seat. When the jet took off, Dorián said abruptly. "Do you have a laptop?"

Mithrandir gestured at it wordlessly.

Dorián took it and tugged on the buckle of his belt. A piece pulled apart.

"Sneaky," Gandalf said dryly. It revealed as a flash drive. Then he suddenly realized Dorián was up to something. "You stumbled- you put something there, didn't you?"

"My wife taught me a few things," Dorián said grimly. "Do not worry; I did not damage their defences. In fact I upgraded them- and then I placed a hole in their system so that we know what they are up to."

"I do not think that is wise," Gandalf said mildly. Dorián looked up and Gandalf fell silent at the look of anger and betrayal Dorián's face held.

"Don't talk to me about what is wise." The Elf said through gritted teeth. "I spent days in that rat-hole when they knew how much I hated anything that reminded me about the dungeons of Dol Guldur. I am doing this. Who are they?"

He said, glancing at a young man and woman.

"Morwen and Turin."

"Ah."

"Do you plan to harm them?" Mithrandir asked.

"No, but I think it's time King Thranduil held a bargaining chip in his hand."

oOo

 _Halls of Mandos,_

He walked alone in the silent halls. There was no one else beside him. In effect, there was no one living in the halls. His hand brushed against the pillars. It was too cold.

"You won't win." He said.

"You are a fool to think that I will not win." Morgoth said.

"I know you will not." He said firmly, turning around. Morgoth towered over him by several feet. "My sons are there to defeat you. The alliances between all the peoples will be re-forged."

Morgoth's face was twisted in mocking smirk.

"Why, Morgoth?" Fëanor asked softly. "Why do this? I regret everything I did. Why can't you?"

Morgoth did not answer him and stepped out of the Halls of Mandos.

"You will remain trapped here, Fëanor. Watch as I remove each of your sons from their bodies!"

Fëanor's spirit stood alone in the crumbling ruins of the Halls of Mandos, worry flickering through his fëa.

oOo

 _Colder regions of Russia,_

Miranda had no idea where she was.

They were underground, that was for sure. The smell was dank. Water dripped from the ceiling and pooled in small puddles. Across the table on which her hands rested was Demetri. She could feel his henchman lightly touch the gun on the back of her head.

"Ever played Russian roulette?" Bard's descendant asked. Miranda could feel another wave of dislike wash over her but she controlled her features.

"No, but I have feeling you are going to introduce me to it." Miranda quipped. Demetri gave a humourless chuckle and pulled out a revolver from under the table. The barrel made a whirling sound after he snapped it out and returned it into its position with a loud click.

"Let's play."

"You know, why should I play when you can just kill me?" Miranda said, folding her arms.

"Let's make a deal then. If I die, then you can have her."

Miranda heard steps approaching them and she turned towards the only entrance. Two men came carrying a sobbing prisoner between them. They dropped him, no, her unceremoniously by their table.

"That's a she-Elf." Miranda said strangely.

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

"Well, someone who played a large role in getting the Queen of Noldorin killed."

"Is that-"

"Fion's wife, yes."

Miranda turned her head to Demetri and for a moment the Man nearly recoiled. Fury blazed in Miranda's eyes, just like it had in her forefather Éomer's eyes long ago.

"You had her."

"Yes."

"All this time, you had her."

"Yes."

"You make me sick."

"Let's make a deal. If I die, you can keep her." Demetri said. "After all, her work is done." The Elleth made no indication she was aware of her surroundings. Miranda swallowed. What exactly had the poor thing gone through? "If you die, then well, she dies too, because there is no use of her left."

"And you don't mind dying?" Miranda said.

"We are pawns in someone's game, Miranda." Demetri said. "That King Thranduil would know by now. So," Demetri pushed the revolver to her. "Let's play."

Miranda looked at the revolver resting on the crude wooden table with some disgust. Before her mind second guessed her, she snatched it up and rested it on her head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She tossed it to Demetri, who caught it cleanly.

"I am surprised you were foolish enough to attack me with such a small team." Demetri said.

Snap. Whirling. Click.

"Why?"

Demetri pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He passed it to Miranda.

"I have the mafia on my side now. The government has no choice but to allow my presence. I am stronger than ever in this position."

Snap. Whirling. Click.

She didn't stop like Demetri did but immediately pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Her heart was racing.

"Numbers do not give all the power." Miranda said. Demetri took the revolver with a smirk. He knew she hated the game. "Where is my team?"

"Safely interrogated in other caves."

"They won't give anything away."

Snap. Whirling. Click. Nothing.

Miranda felt a bit disappointed.

"Oh?"

"They are trained by Celegorm. They won't talk."

"I see." Demetri said. "Tell me why you came here."

She took the revolver, let the barrel spin and brought it back into position with a click. That noise will always haunt her, she thought to herself. She brought it to her head and pulled the trigger. Nothing. She breathed out heavily before an angry thought came to her head.

 _Béma, if you are out there somewhere, you had better be looking after me because I sure as hell don't want to die in this dump and I need some time to strangle you and the rest of your gang._

"You have some things that interest us."

"Really? Like what?"

"Oh, just things."

Demetri frowned at her before tilting her head to the Man who brought in the Elf. The burly, scarred minion raised his foot and brought it down on the she-Elf's back. She gave a loud, pained shriek and wept anew. Miranda's lips thinned.

Snap. Whirling. Click. Nothing.

"You have new inventions that interest us and we wanted the schematics." She said.

"Ah." Demetri said with a frown. "Your contact keeps you well informed."

"Morgoth isn't the only one with good spies."

Snap. Whirling. Click. Nothing.

Pity there was no way to tell if there was bullet in the barrel when it was her turn. She would love to point it Demetri.

"You have failed miserably in your plan."

Miranda felt like she wanted to curl in a corner and sulk.

"Yes. I suppose so." She said reluctantly.

Then a large blast was heard and Miranda braced herself against the table as the ground shook. Rocks fell from the ceiling.

"I suppose not." Miranda corrected herself mildly.

Before any of them could recover, Miranda pushed back her chair, slamming it into the guard behind her. The Man moved forward. She grabbed his right hand and twisted it sharply, forcing him to drop his weapon. She kicked it out of reach, grabbed his neck and slammed his head against the table. She got up and took her chair and hurled it at the guard over the prisoner. Demetri was already reaching for his gun. There was a sound of a gun going off. Demetri looked at her in shock, his shirt quickly staining in his own blood before crumpling to the ground. Alice stood right behind him.

"You took your sweet time!" Miranda said angrily.

"Well, your position got screwed by their jamming devices." Alice retorted. She reached her in long quick strides. Two of her men followed her. "Just be glad I am here to save your sorry behind!"

"Did you get the data?"

"Oh, I got more than just the data. Get that Elleth to safety!" Alice barked at one of her soldiers. "I don't want to lose her."

"Alice, behind you!"

Alice flipped the gun in her hand, turned and hit Demetri with all her force on his head. The Man's head whipped to the side and he crumpled to the ground without a sound.

"Nice, clean hit," Miranda said in awe when she rolled him over with her foot. He was dead.

"I hate that guy." Alice muttered.

"You and me both."

But still Miranda looked down at Demetri. His eyes were wide and unseeing, blood pooling beneath his head. Was this all that Morgoth offered? A service unpaid?

 _We are all pawns in someone's game…_

The ground shook, and Alice tugged on her arm before breaking off into a run.

"COME ON! This whole place is going under!"

Miranda turned and sprinted after Alice. As she did, she could hear something filling up the caves. It sounded like water. She ran faster and grabbed Alice's outreached hand. As soon as she did, Alice yelled at the Elf to bring her up. Alice's other hand was gripping the rope tightly, her feet resting on a small circular plate attached to the rope with a metallic rod. Miranda kept a tight grip around Alice's waist as they were lifted in a fast, steady rate out of the ground. Miranda looked down and saw the water swell up where they were standing.

"What did you do?" Miranda gasped.

"These caves were originally submerged in water. Demetri's henchmen had stopped the water flow. We just opened up the gates." Alice said.

"And try to kill us in the process."

"Nah, Jimmy told me to bring you up alive."

Miranda looked at her sharply. Alice had an impudent grin on her face.

"Said something about tying the knot," She said.

Miranda's face burned.

"He also said you forgot your engagement ring on the table." Alice was enjoying this too much. "But he was sure that was a mistake. Because he knew you had no second thoughts of marriage."

"He assumes too much." Miranda murmured. "Do not tell anyone."

"Oh, everyone already knows. I told you, you will marry him eventually."

"Shut up."

"I have the right to gloat now that I saved you and your team and got the prisoner out of there."

"Yes, you have served your purpose. Now I can push you of the plate and let you stay here and rot while I go my merry way."

In spite of Miranda's brutal words, she just hung on and did nothing.

The Men helped them off the plate once they reached the carrier, the door remained open and Miranda gratefully wore a thick jacket supplied to her for protection against the biting cold. Then she looked for Fion's wife. Strange, she thought as she hurried to the blanket-covered Elleth. All this time, she never asked Fion what her name was. She knelt down and gingerly touched her hand. The Elleth did not draw away.

"You are safe now," Miranda soothed, gathering the she-Elf in her arms. Her hair was hacked, and she was bald in some places. She was nothing but a bag of bones and skin, and she was cut and wounded, and Miranda could see several bruises beneath the dirt. Shaken, she tightened her arms in an attempt to give some poor comfort. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

"Miranda," Alice said. Miranda looked up. Alice's face was deathly pale. And she looked… afraid.

"What is it?"

"You have to see this yourself."

Miranda gestured at one of the female soldiers to take her place and went to stand beside Alice. Cold air whipped over her cheeks and lips and she peered outside.

She could see as far as the horizon. Snow dotted this side of Russia throughout the year. The land was uneven, and mountains rose up to greet the night time sky. In the light of the stars, Miranda could see men and women filling the land. But there was something strange about them. She saw that they were dressed in clothes not of the modern world. Some were dressed in military clothes that were no longer in use, and others were dressed in old-fashioned garments. All of them were young; there were no elderly, no children. They were raised for one sole purpose.

"The dead walk the earth." Alice whispered.

 **~S~**

 **Author's Note:**

I know a lot of readers usually stay silent, but please... do leave a review. You have no idea how happy it makes me when someone leaves a review.


	4. Maedhros

**Events that occurred till now:**

-Glaweth, wife of Maedhros, is dead, killed by Wolf.

-Arodien, injured and restricted from Queenly duties resides in Tol Antanë to be healed. She had kept Fion's secret from Thranduil. Oropher was an accomplice.

-Fion is hated by Silvan Elves by his apparent betrayal, last seen to be with Wolf and Eöl.

-Kate last seen with her new sword, Dawnbreaker, unsure of what the future holds for specifically. She told others the dead have set sail, referring to Aragorn and others who have been resurrected for Dagor Dagorath.

-Miranda and Alice were last heard of in Tempest: Stronghold by Thranduil to be up to something but never found out what. It turns out that both of them were in Russia in an attempt to gather intelligence and steal data.

-Fion's wife is found in Demetri's grip. Demetri is killed and she is brought to safety under Miranda.

-Ingwë was last seen in Tempest: Stronghold, being fitted with a new prosthetic leg and leaving with his people. Their situation is unknown.

-Dorián, who was not heard from for a long time, when he was last made contact with Thranduil is found to be under the grip of Galadriel. He is freed by Gandalf and he takes off but not before breaching the defences of the Galadhrim in order to find out what they are up to.

-Caranthir is last seen trying to make contact with Círdan. His dead son, an Elfling, spoke once to Kate before disappearing.

-The Sun and the Moon are dead, killed by Morgoth.

-Eärendil descended from the heavens and set sail beside the fleeing ships of Aman.

-This author's sanity is on the brink of disaster.

-You read the above statement just as seriously as all the previous ones.

Enjoy the extra long chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _I was never good at expressing myself. I do not know where to begin. My thoughts are in good order, mind you, but I am not the kind to speak my mind. I listen and observe more. Things are easily missed if you seek to be the centre of everyone's attention._

 _I miss her so. She completed me as another half. I miss my unborn son. They were what I could call truly mine. But the Enemy ripped them both from me. The pain is more than I could describe to anyone including myself. I sense her everywhere, in everything in my rooms to the places around the palace. The Valar warned me this would happen; that tragedy would befall me if I married a mortal demanded her to be granted immortality. But never did I dream that tragedy would befall her as well._

 _The price was too high and it cost me dearly._

 _(One and only entry in Maedhros' journal)_

Legolas exhaled softly, his breath stirring the leaves in front of him. He pulled up the cloth around his neck till it covered the lower part of his face. Other Rangers were in the trees around his and waited his orders.

These spiders were smaller than the ones that used to haunt Mirkwood. He saw seven crawling over the forest bed. He could hear no animal; all of them had taken shelter. With quick, calming breaths, he fitted an arrow in his quiver and smoothly pulled the bowstring back. He trained on one of the spiders, focusing on its head before releasing. He did not miss.

Other arrows soon followed, and swiftly the spiders fell and curled up into themselves. Legolas dropped to the ground. Other Rangers followed.

"Quickly," Legolas hissed, "To the cave!"

The five Rangers broke into a sprint, the three others following them from the treetops.

"Legolas, look out!"

Legolas turned around at the warning. A spider, smaller than the rest, dropped from above, its legs spread out. Legolas ducked and rolled out of the way. He heard arrows split through the air and a shrill shriek of pain before the dead spider fell heavily against the ground and curled into itself.

"I forgot how disgusting I used to find them." Caldor commented, standing beside Legolas.

"Imagine teenage girls seeing these for real," Legolas answered. "It will give a whole new meaning to fear of spiders. This way!"

They reached the cave entrance. The cave was small, and low. They ducked their heads as they entered it. Here, the metallic scent of blood was thick in the air. They heard something scrabble over the stone.

"We are too late." Legolas said. One of the male hawks, Goldeye, perched on his shoulder and gave low hoot of anticipation. As soon as they entered the low but wide room-like structure, Legolas pulled out the hidden knife in his sleeve and swung it at his opponent. The spider fell to the ground with a loud splat.

The Rangers crouched towards the walls of the caves. They had curved small shelves into the walls. Many nests lined the shelves, the eggs shattered and the fledglings, dead in their homes.

One of the female hawks, a young mother flew around one of the nests before perching herself on its edge. She looked down and then up to her Ranger and gave a wailing hoot. The Ranger soothed her by brushing his fingers over her head.

Legolas walked up to them and knelt. He carefully gathered the dead fledglings in both his hands. Five hawks dead before their time, he thought sorrowfully.

"These spiders are young." Hanon said, examining the spider, "Barely two or maybe three months, judging by the spines on the legs."

"So who is laying the eggs?" Arandur asked, reaching out to the grieving mother hawk. The bird hopped onto Arandur's left shoulder and hid her head in his thick hair.

"I don't know." Legolas said. "But we have to find out. And we need to know where the nest is as well. Find the nest, and burn the spiders down before they infest this place. Bury the dead." Legolas rose up and patted the hawk perched on Arandur's shoulder.

 _"I am sorry,"_ he murmured in Sindarin. _"We will take you to our Halls. The young you will bear will be safe there."_

But there was no replacement for the young she lost, and Legolas knew he could not console her for it.

"Look after her. Make sure she eats." Legolas said. Arandur nodded wordlessly. Goldeye flew to one of the nest and stared down at the shattered eggs.

When they returned to the Rangers' Circle, they returned with some relief. The Circle was similar to the one they had in Mirkwood, with all talans connected to each other through ropes and bridges. The trees were dense and hid the houses from view. Orbs of light, the symbol of which the Silvan Elves were considered so strange, floated above them, shedding them light along with the starlight above them. A large fire blazed in the middle of the Circle.

"I need to show you something." Hanon said, tapping Legolas on the shoulder. "Come."

Legolas followed the Head Commander to his quarters. Hanon unlocked his safe and pulled out a small black briefcase and set it in front of Legolas. Opening it, Legolas saw a single vial resting in the hollow of the briefcase.

"Was this manufactured?" Legolas asked, carefully lifting the vial between his fingers.

"Chemical engineering," Hanon said. "We bought the data from Miranda just now. Demetri was working on it. Russia has many resources and some of the best lie in different domains of engineering."

"Is this liquid?" Legolas asked, tilting the vial and watching the oily transparent substance crash against the walls.

"Yes. It is poison actually." Hanon said, taking the vial and carefully placing it back in the hollow in the briefcase. "Slip it into the drink of a person. And time it to act whenever you please."

"Perfect time to get away with murder," Legolas mused.

"Yes."

"Cool," Legolas said in awe.

"I know." Hanon said with satisfaction.

"Do you think we can use it any time soon?"

"I doubt it. It's not fully tested yet." Hanon said. Legolas' face changed to something Hanon could not quite name.

"I might use it for Fion," Legolas said quietly. Hanon looked at the prince sharply. Legolas was not told about what really happened, what Fion kept as a secret. They feared if it somehow leaked to the Enemy, they would kill Fion.

"And you will be deemed kinslayer." Hanon said sternly. "These thoughts are not like you. Kinslaying is serious. Fion taught you better-"

"Don't you dare."

Legolas' voice was quietly dangerous. Hanon closed his mouth.

"He was still your mentor." Hanon said.

"He was a traitor."

"He was like your second father."

"He tried to kill my mother."

"He loved you like his own son, Legolas." Hanon said finally. "Both you and Dorián. Never forget that."

"Dorián doesn't know." Legolas said. He sank into a nearby chair and lowered his head in his hands. "How am I going to tell him? I was close to Fion but Dorián was closer to him. He was his father on his wedding day. I don't know how to tell him."

Hanon hated secrets. Secrets brought nothing good, only harmed those tormented without it.

oOo

 _Redwood Forest,_

 _Arda,_

Berethil was right. Sitting in the centre of the square which was popular among children did him good.

"You are a father," Berethil had told him briskly. "A father's heart is often soothed at the sight of children. Come, you will enjoy a place you may have not seen."

It was a square built in the corner of the Halls, along the slanting inner wall of the mountain. There were Noldorin lamps hanging over them, providing them with light enough to be like daylight. It was full of life, merry and cheerful.

He missed Thorontur terribly. He didn't realize how close he had been to the dry advisor. The first time he met Thorontur, he found him irritating, firm on the old ways. But as time went by, the two had gotten close. Thorontur had supported him endlessly, looked after him, even, as an uncle would.

The happy cries of children brought him out his depressing mood. There was a deep mountain spring that was cleverly curved and channelled into an Elleth's statue holding a vase. The water spurted out of the vase and the children were playing in the basin where the water fell. The Ellyth and Ellyn overseeing the children set in gatherings nearby. None of them invited him. Then again, they did not know he was there. He was hooded and cloaked, on a raised shelf in the corner of the square with the nearby Noldorin lanterns shuttered to cast him in shadow and bless him with complete solitude. He sent Mithon away, not wanting him to constantly hover about him. Berethil did not approve this tactic but she said nothing against it either.

How many more? Thranduil wondered, crossing his feet at the ankles. How many more Ellyth would come to his Halls, pregnant or with children? With every child born and raised in his Halls, he felt the weight over his shoulders multiply. More people to feed, more people to defend. These Halls were well-fortified, but if the might of Morgoth came upon it in full force, he doubted anything defensive here would hold against it. And these children must be protected. He would die before he saw any of them as thralls in the pits of the Enemy. No, if he dies, these children must remain free, so that they can defeat the darkness in his and the rest of the army's place. He thought of his unborn son and shivered. He might be king next.

He laughed softly as one of the older children managed to grab a young, toddling Elleth and pull her into the basin. She obviously hated water. The poor child now sat wailing in the middle of the basin surrounded by children who were happy to play in the cold water. One of the fathers got up and went to her. He was speaking quietly, in an effort to console her.

He thought about Arodien and felt sadness come over him. The war will pull him away. He would not be able to watch his second child grow. His son will be under the danger of death and destruction from the moment he was born. But then he would make sure that none of it would reach his Halls. Here at least, his people will eat and drink and be glad. Children will play as they always have. He would make sure of it.

Arodien was a different matter. He was not too sure what to make of her actions on keeping secrets from him. Legolas was certainly not pleased to hear his mother was staying at Tol Antanë until he called her. He felt that his brother would be born here, in the Halls, surrounded by his people. He did not tell Legolas about Fion, feeling the lesser the people knew, the better. But Legolas was furious about Fion. In fact, Legolas barely spoke to Oropher and did not approve the fact that he was pardoned and not given due justice. The people were not pleased either, but they trusted Thranduil's judgement. But they were wary of him. He cannot make the same type of decision again.

What did he feel about her? He loved her, as he always had done. Eons of marriage and companionship cannot be simply broken by a few secrets. The secret, though well-kept, was poorly-made, and resulted in a tragic loss. He was not keen to let her resume her duties as a Queen, but then he knew he cannot do everything on his own. He needed people whom he could trust and know will make decisions for the better of his kingdom.

Admitting to himself that he had dawdled enough, he raised carefully to his full height without raising anyone's attention, he leaped down out of sight before pulling off his hooded cloak. He returned to his study, nodding to Galion on the way. He did not bother to ask for Mithon; chances were he would find him standing outside his study less than a half an hour later when Galion spread the word he was back. He entered to find Berethil already at work.

"Feeling better?" Berethil asked over her shoulder as she set the reports on his table. He was starting to admire her efficiency. She worked quickly, but then again she had a sharp mind and had always been an influential character in his Halls. Hanon must have rubbed off some of his traits on her.

"Yes." Thranduil said with a smile. "Thank you."

"Always happy to serve, my lord," Berethil said.

If Maedhros knew… if he knew that Arodien had known about the spy and how it led to Glaweth's death…

Thranduil's chest tightened.

He dreaded to think what would happen then.

"Berethil," Thranduil called. The lady looked up, her eyes intelligent and alert. "Call Lord Amras and asked about my wife. We want our Queen back." Berethil's face brightened. He may be their king, but Arodien was one of them. They loved her, cherished her.

As much as he did.

oOo

 _Tol Antanë,_

 _Arda,_

He could hear quiet clanking behind him.

"Touch any more of my things I will break your fingers one by one." Amrod said, his eyes not leaving the screen. He heard the deep masculine chuckle behind him.

"Only the members of the House of Fëanor would speak to a Vala thus."

"Say rather that only Fëanor and his sons have spoken to you and the other Vala as such." Amrod said. "My mother is better. She says 'please'."

Aulë chuckled behind him.

"You know, there are some things that might interest you. The dwarves are working on some projects in the lower levels."

"You are trying to get rid of me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like to talk to my brother in peace and quiet." Amrod said, gesturing at the ringing tablet beside him.

"I will return shortly." Aulë said.

"Oh, please. Take your time."

Amrod watched the amused Vala leave from the corner of his eye and answered Maglor's call. Maglor's face appeared on the screen.

"What took you so long?" Maglor asked.

"I have a Vala poking around in things not his business." Amrod nearly whined.

"I have a brother passed out drunk in his rooms." Maglor returned.

"That would be both our problem, unfortunately." Amrod said. "And we have a certain other brother by the name of Curufin who is not showing his face."

"I think he is just a little embarrassed."

"Well, it's time he got over it and came to some use. I need fresh eyes."

"I just found out why America withdrew its troops from other countries."

"it found fuel and other resources somewhere else." Amrod said. Maglor's brows snapped together in a frown.

"How did you know?"

"I have eyes and ears in every place where they make cool trinkets and toys." Amrod said. "I found out."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I sent a report to you."

"No you didn't."

"You told me you didn't think it important."

Maglor shook his head. He could feel a headache coming on.

"Well, I was mistaken. Tell me what you know."

"Just that Mars has oil. America likes oil. America uses NASA to get oil."

"I am not a child, Amrod." Maglor said, shaking his head.

"My head hurts and I haven't slept for two days. That's as much as my brain can function."

"What do they have on Mars?"

"Oil plants," Amrod said. "They use them to extract oil near volcanic regions."

"Oil is fossil fuel. There was no life on Mars."

"It is not oil, per say. It's something resembling oil, but far superior. Oil is merely a common man's term for it."

"Great," Maglor said. "They practically have an unlimited supply. Is there any way to cut it off?"

"I am working on it. Medusa is coming along just fine but it will take me a while to finish testing it and refining it."

"Medusa? After the Greek mythological creature with snakes for hair?"

"Yep."

"Right." Maglor said faintly. "May I ask how you came up with the name?"

Amrod wordlessly brought up the image of Medusa's prototype. It was a machine, with the main body having multiple legs.

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Squid is a more appropriate term."

"Shut up."

Maglor chuckled when his younger brother rolled his eyes at him. Maglor began to sift through Amrod's files. He found a small image of two armour sets. He squinted at it.

"What the hell is that?"

"Something I was making in my free time."

"You have free time? Apparently you were not as busy as you should be."

"It's something I was cooking up for Thranduil and Maedhros."

Maglor squinted more.

"Stop being an irritating oaf and bring it up."

The image grew larger and Maglor stared at it.

"That's armour."

"Mm-hm."

"There are two."

"How observant."

Both suits were similar in design; slim-fitted, bulletproof.

"Is that mithril?"

"Yes, a mixture of modern design for bulletproof vests along with old designs of mithril coats and vests. It is more reinforced than before, protecting the wearer from debris, ammunition and certain forms of bombs. It is NOT invincible, though." Amrod warned.

"No helmet."

"I am working on that." Amrod said in irritation. "What am I, a machine? I can only do so much at a time, you know!"

"Sorry, grouch." Maglor said. "It looks great though."

"I wasn't aiming for it to look great, more like functional." Amrod said dryly.

"Did you dye the mithril?"

"Maedhros' has the maroon one and Thranduil is the green one."

"Forest-green."

"Did I ask your opinion, fashion designer?"

"You need coffee if you are being so grumpy. Have Snickers. You are not you when you are hungry."

"Oh, shut up." Amrod said, looking exasperated. "The world is about to end. We are looking at each other when any one of us could be dead in minutes and you are joking."

"I'd be dead drunk, but Maedhros is playing that part very well."

"I heard it's been months since Thranduil last took a drink."

"Poor guy is getting himself in more trouble than he thought he was originally in." Maglor said. "He definitely needs to go dead drunk."

"Well, I don't think there is any time for something other than staying sober… why are you looking for news on America?"

"You know, I hate it when we share screens, I have my own life you know."

Amrod scowled.

"I just want to know what is going on out there, Amrod." Maglor said. "From the looks of it, civilians are taking in quite a beating."

"I wouldn't call them completely helpless. Most Americans have guns."

Maglor studied the shifting footage on the screen.

"So Americans have legalized weapons?"

"Yes, guns, mostly. Almost every house was armed over the years."

"Yeah, I kind of remember other countries hating America for it." Maglor said.

"But it means that people will not be helpless. And there is word of resistance on ground."

"Which means I can get some allies," Maglor murmured.

"You know what is happening there, right?" Amrod asked grimly. "They captured the boys and girls at school and are using them, Maglor. Many of them have been raped and those schools have been turned into pleasu-"

"I don't want to hear it." Maglor interrupted. His voice was harsh. He shook his head, exhaling slowly before placing his hands on his hips. "We need a foothold over there, Amrod. There is no way we can fight Angband without having a part of America under our control."

"Why would they follow you?" Amrod asked. "You are not one of them. And the media portrayed you as some bloodthirsty, violent Elf. They would never follow you."

"I am not going there to be their leader. I am going there to be their ally… and to make sure the Enemy does not take over more land than it already did." Maglor said. "They will have leaders enough, what with the dead popping up everywhere."

"And that is a little frightening," Amrod said, shaking his head. "The entire Races of Men, Dwarves, Hobbits and Elves… all of them together! We have folks like George Washington, and Alexander the Great revived. How in Arda will they manage to determine who is the leader of them all?"

"The first Houses of Man will determine the leadership. And they are the only ones I trust." Maglor said. "Let me ask you something. If you want to establish a foothold in America, where would you go?"

"South America," Amrod said immediately. "There are large rebellious movements there. And the Enemy is having a hard time controlling them."

"But you have to get past the heavy blockade." Maglor said. "America has its every ship available and on active duty at sea."

"Then don't go in by sea. Take one of the cloaked airships. It's easier that way." Amrod said. "And take a small team, Maglor, nothing too big, or you will come off as too hostile."

"A smaller team is less easily noticed," Maglor said. "Let's just hope they are willing to listen and I have enough people to work with."

"America is a survivor." Amrod said. "I know you are not fond of that country. And I admit over the years its society was not the best and very near to the worst, but there are good people there, Maglor. That's why America was still standing on its feet."

"I might not be fond of that country but one thing is for sure, I am damn impressed." Maglor murmured. Amrod leaned forward to the camera.

"Maglor," Amrod said. His face was serious. "What would you do if you ever face Fion?"

"That Elf was the least of all I suspected." Maglor said. "Thranduil seemed to trust him, and I thought I could too. But he made a fool of all of us. I think I would kill him."

"That would risk making the Silvan Elves hostile to us, if we kill one of their own."

"Then I will do it through a trial."

"By handing him over to Thranduil? I have a feeling that Thranduil would spare him."

"Then I will kill him even if I am to be called kinslayer. That Elf deserves to die and that is that." Maglor said finally. "We are losing the Haradrim by the hundreds. How is Amras getting along with the experiments?"

"He stopped calling and he won't answer my calls." Amrod said. "He is annoyed, frustrated and tired of sitting around. None of us are exactly the type to be sitting around."

"Yes, action always suited us more. We will have time in the battlefield, I am sure of that." Maglor said. "Well, for me, I will be entering a battlefield soon enough. I leave now for America."  
"How are you going to explain this to Maedhros?"

"I am not going to explain it to him." Maglor said grimly.

He found Maedhros, sure enough, in his rooms. The tall Elf sat on a chair facing the open window, his long legs splayed out in front of him. Maedhros' hair was unkempt and his clothes were rumpled. He held a nearly empty glass in his hand.

"Where are you going?" Maedhros said, finishing off his drink.

"America," Maglor said.

"There is no America," Maedhros said. "It's Angband."

"Well, I am going to look for her people. Evidently there is still some fighting spirit somewhere." Silence fell. "What about you?"

"There is no need for me."

That was it. Maglor had enough.

"I am leaving right now." Maglor said.

That got Maedhros' attention.

"What?"

"Bye." Maglor said and turned on his heel. He grabbed his backpack and tablet lying by the door and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Maglor!"

"Well, I consider the fact that you have to get up your lazy arse if I leave!"

"I am your Lord, I demand that you stay!"

"Not listening!" Maglor yelled over his shoulder, going down the steps and ignoring the bemused looks of all the Elves they passed by. "And I am a Lord too. You cannot command me. Only a king can." They stepped outside, where a craft waited for Maglor on the wide courtyard.

"You were ready!""

"Of course I was." Maglor retorted.

"Círdan sent message that we are to meet the ships at the shores of England. Who is going if not you?"

Maglor turned and tossed the tablet to Maedhros who caught it cleanly.

"I am leaving it all to you." Maglor said with a nasty smile. "Enjoy. Oh and Maedhros? I hear Elrond and Fingon are on those ships. Give them a hug from me." Maedhros was stunned at first, until dread welled up inside him at the prospect. But he was given no time to outwardly react. With a tilt of his head, Maglor bid him farewell before stepping onto the craft. The raft closed and the craft rose into the air.

Maedhros was left staring after the disappearing craft.

"Sometimes I hate my brothers." He said in the following silence.

oOo

 _Refugee Ships of Aman,_

 _Arda,_

"No more of those scary monsters, Mister Frodo," Samwise Gamgee said with some relief. "Although the weather could use some letting up, if you do not mind my saying so."

"I don't mind it at all, Sam." Frodo answered. The air was hot and stifling. Clouds had gathered above them, blocking out the starlight. Lanterns hung from the ropes and rails but they were poor excuse for light.

"These ships are mighty cramped, Mister Frodo." Sam said. "I wouldn't mind having some space to myself at least."

Merry was kicking his heels against the empty barrel he was sitting on.

"They were just trying to save all of us." Merry said. "I expect we would have plenty of space once we reach shore. I wonder how much Arda changed."

"I expect it changed a lot, Merry." Frodo answered, looking over his shoulder and beyond the waters. "We are in Arda now. We just didn't reach the land we are supposed to reach."

"Those Eagles are going to get drenched if the clouds start raining." Sam said, looking up. "I would have liked something else other than wearing white as well. These clothes do not ward of anything."

"SHIPS AHEAD!"

All three Hobbits craned their heads to the front. Sure enough, a fleet of ships blocked their path.

"I wonder what they want." Merry said.

"Whatever it is, I just hope they are friends." Frodo said, hopping down his barrel and hurrying to the front. The other two Hobbits followed him. They joined Elrond, Faramir and Pippin.

"They are flying Teleri colours." Elrond said.

"The ship at the front is also flying Círdan's flag." Elrohir said. "But I hope it is not a trap. We survived with bare casualties. I am not keen to lose more of our ships."

"That's Círdan," Elrond said suddenly. "Look! The Elf there!"

Their ships approached the welcoming ships until they were face to face. Small boats bumped over the waves.

"Ahoy!" One of the Elves in the boats shouted up to them. "Círdan wishes to speak to some of you. Come with us!"

They got down to the boats which took them up to Círdan's ship. They found the Valar already on the ship, standing a cluster. Merry noted how they looked weary and worn. This was proving hard to them.

"It is good to see you, old friend!" Elrond said, embracing Círdan. Both Elves were smiling broadly when they parted.

"And I you; tell me, I trust you and your family made it out safe and sound?"

"Yes, but we lost a few ships on our way here."

"How come you were here?" Elladan asked.

"I was sent word that your ships may be in trouble." Círdan said. "I am happy to see that you were least harmed."

"Word?" Elrond asked. "Who could have sent you word?"

Círdan tilted his head towards Elrond.

"An Elf I consider a friend and ally." Círdan said coolly. "And I must thank him. I might not have met you in time."

"You needn't have feared." Frodo said. "The dark water-sprites left us."

"That is because they are now fighting their sisters. Do not doubt the clouds. Olwë is getting ready for a battle. We must leave the Sea before he begins. I doubt he will care how many ships he sank."

"You are picking up members of other ships." Elrohir said, gazing at the refugee ships.

"Indeed," Círdan said. "I expect none of the revived were able to meet each other properly.

Just then, Éomer's wet head appeared from the rope ladders hanging from the side. Erchirion gave a cry and both he and Amrothos hauled him up.

"Éomer, you annoying brother by marriage, you!"

"Get off of me!" Éomer shouted, pushing both of them back with such strength that Frodo and others could only believe this was truly Éomer. Lothíriel ran to him with joy and the couple embraced.

"Give them a little privacy, Pip," Merry said. Pippin flushed and looked away.

"See, I told you we mean nothing to him." Amrothos said to Erchirion who only pretended to be disgruntled.

Then they heard a loud thump and a roar. Few Elves laughed. Frodo and the other Hobbits looked. There, with one foot tangled in the rope ladder and sprawled ungracefully on the floor with his long but un-braided beard and short ear-length hair was none other than Gímli himself.

"Good old Gímli!" Sam cried joyously. "Come, up, up, up, up!" He hurried to help his old friend. The Elves standing near the Dwarf made no move to help him, but stood there, grinning. Once Gímli was right and his hair and beard smoothed down, he shook a finger at the grinning Elves.

"I never liked your kind," he growled. "And I would never like your kind had it not been for the Lady of Lórien and for Legolas Greenle-"

"Oh, Gímli," Frodo suddenly laughed. "Let it be, Master Dwarf. We survived water and foe after returning from the dead. A little bit of fun would not go amiss. Look! They meant no harm, these good Elven sailors."

"They only let you believe thus." Gímli said darkly. Frodo laughed again and said nothing.

"I believe all of us are together now," Aragorn said, coming to stand beside Frodo. He placed his hands on his hips. Merry's smile died on his lips.

"Almost," Merry said. He pointed with one finger beyond them and all of them looked.

A young man stood far from them. He looked so much like Faramir that it could only be counted as a family resemblance. He bore more muscle than the Steward of Gondor. His hair was dark as Faramir's, but he had no beard or stubble.

"Boromir," Frodo said.

Boromir looked down at Frodo and the hobbit returned his gaze with mixed feelings. When Frodo had last seen the Man of Gondor, he sprawled on the ground, hair unruly and covered in fallen leaves, spit flying from his mouth and eyes wide and full of madness as he uttered unintelligible words under the duress of the One Ring. But the Man before him looking nothing like the Man in his memory. Boromir looked hesitant and his eyes were full of remorse. He made no move towards Frodo but stayed where he was. At least he knelt on one knee.

"I broke my word to you." Boromir said. He kept his eye contact with Frodo. "I joined the Fellowship when our duty was to protect you or to leave if the journey or the Ring's call came too great. But I did neither and strove to change your course and your mission. And for my folly I broke our Fellowship. And for that I apologize. I do not know what came over me. And if I am not to be forgiven, then put upon me a penalty and I will complete it to earn my forgiveness."

Frodo looked at the man kneeling before him before looking up at Aragorn for silent plea of advice. But the King of Gondor looked impassive. The decision was upon Frodo. What Boromir had done, trying to take the Ring from Frodo in the fit of madness was difficult to put it past him.

"You tried to save Merry and Pippin from the orcs." Frodo said, "Until the very last breath. That is more than enough of a penalty. Thank you, for trying to save my kin."

Boromir's face morphed into surprise and then gratitude.

"I hold nothing against you." Frodo finished.

"Get up," Aragorn's voice was just as gentle. "Your family waits to meet you."

Boromir rose and looked towards Faramir, who was standing nearby. Faramir covered the distance between them in two strides and embraced him roughly. Aragorn bent towards Frodo.

"Well done," Aragorn murmured in his ears before going to Elrond. Frodo turned his attention back to Boromir. Imrahil, Erchirion, and others had come to greet Boromir.

"They didn't meet him, Mister Frodo." Sam said as they watched Imrahil and his children, and Faramir mill about Boromir. Laughter rose up and friendly thumps and pushes were exchanged. "They didn't meet him after they left the circles of Arda."

"Boromir was alone." Frodo said. "He left the Halls early, and he was in a happy place beyond Arda, but that was his only reward. He was not allowed to meet his kin."

"That's punishment enough." Merry said. "Poor Boromir! He didn't deserve so much. I am glad you forgave, Frodo. You should have seen him fight to protect us. Only many arrows in his chest stopped him."

"If we don't put our differences aside, Merry, then we can never win this war."

oOo

 _Dragon's Nest,_

 _Arda,_

Celegorm carefully extricated himself from the cocoon of sleeping dragons. He got up and silently tiptoed his way around the numerous heads, tales and limbs in the crowded cave. His heart leaped in his throat as one of the dragons lazily opened one eye and looked directly at him. Then it snorted and went back to sleep. Celegorm stared at it. The dragon probably did not raise the alarm because there was no escape from this cave.

He skirted around a swishing tailing from a dragon sleeping on a raised platform above him and saw shafts of light around a corner. He made his way over to it and found a small opening in the ceiling he could barely pass through. It was well within his reach. Using a rock as a way to haul himself up, he grabbed the sides of the opening, cutting one palm and pushed himself through.

The mountain wind whipped against his torn and thin shirt, filling his body with chills. But the scenery was amazing. Plains and forests spread out before him and he saw dotted areas that could well be towns. He was in some form of countryside, but he did not know which country he was in. The silver shafts came from bright starlight shining down on them. He watched the stars for a while, admiring the light. The cold no longer bothered him. He walked over the rough, unlevelled ground, feeling the stones under the soles. He remembered this kind of freedom, when Maedhros was to his books, Maglor his music, Caranthir his weaponry, Curufin his craft, when he took a horse and meagre supplies and galloped off into the deep wilds of the forest. There the birds sang their stories to him and the animals showed him their secrets.

But that was a long time ago.

He heard a small cry and he turned to it. An eagle sat on a stone, looking at him in curiosity. Celegorm crept closer to the predator. The eagle tilted its head, looking at him with one eye.

"You know me," Celegorm said softly. "You know who I am." He hesitantly brought his hand forward. The eagle withdrew its head a little. "Please don't fly away." He brought his hand a little forward again, hope rising as each second passed and the bird of prey did not take off.

But the eagle did not speak to him. Instead it unravelled its great wings and flew away.

Celegorm's hand dropped to his side, his heart shattering a bit more. There was a flurry of wind like a hurricane around him before something heavy landed behind him. Smaug gave a rumble of laughter.

"Master of beast, indeed," there was mockery in the great dragon's voice. "Such mastery! Your skills were greatly boasted."

"There was a time where I spoke to every beast that flew the sky, swum the water, and ran on land." Celegorm said. He watched the eagle fly away until it disappeared in the horizon. "But I made a mistake, and they refused to speak to me since then. And I am not their master. I was their friend… and I abused that friendship."

Smaug's head appeared beside his shoulder. Celegorm tried not to breathe too deeply; the dragon reeked of fire and death.

"Then you are weak. You can never be friends with animals, Master Elf. You can only prove yourself to be their master."

"Why have you brought me here?" Celegorm asked, turning to him. Smaug raised his head and reached his neck to its full length. Celegorm kept his eyes on him.

"I wanted to determine whether it is true for what they say about you. But you are nothing, only an Elf. I am far superior to you."

"Then kill me now and be done with it." Celegorm said bitterly. "Free me from this curse to stay alive and wait for death to come to me."

"I also have a need for you. You may have noticed that we are not natural beings. We were… created by Morgoth to be what the men call catapults. We are…" Smaug's tongue slithered out and licked lightly at the tips of his teeth, "expendables."

"Glad you noticed your true purpose. But what do you need me for?"

"Alliance."

Celegorm stared at him before laughing loudly. His laughter echoed over the mountaintop.

"You cannot be serious." Celegorm said, still chuckling.

"I never joke. If I had to, you would be writhing in fire right now."

"Why would anyone wish to ally themselves to you?"

"I am of use to them, just as they are of use to me."

"You have no heart," Celegorm sneered. "You have no thought for right or wrong. You would burn down innocents if you have to. There is nothing but darkness in you. And darkness cannot be trusted."

Smaug laughed this time, and his laughter was high-pitched and mocking.

"And you still have need for me."

"No Elf would trust you."

"On the contrary, some already have. Let me show you." The dragon shifted his wings invitingly.

Celegorm folded his arms and glowered at the dragon. But curiosity finally won over.

"Let me get on your back then."

Smaug gave a full-blown laughter, making the ground shake beneath him.

"If you think you will ride me, Elf, than you are sorely mistaken."

Smaug leaped into the air, unfolding his wings and grabbed Celegorm painfully tight in one claw. The high altitude made his head spin and his constricted chest constrict more from the lack of oxygen. He did not know how long he was carried into the air but came to full consciousness when Smaug dropped him a few inches from the ground. Celegorm rolled over and retched before the nausea fully subsided.

"We need to make a pact, you and I." He told the dragon sourly. Celegorm looked around him. He was on the edge of a settlement he had seen from the mountaintop. The pastures lined the edges of the town. There was light and electricity. The buildings were undoubtedly Elven-made. Banners were caught in the wind. He saw Elves milling about and caught sight of one Elf coming towards them. His golden hair was bound in a single braid and his prosthetic leg gave soft, whirring noises with every step he took.

"Ingwë."

"Yes."

"He trusts you."

"Trust is an exaggeration. But yes, we have allied ourselves."

"The Warg chewed half of his brain out along with his leg. He is mentally unstable, that's what he is," Celegorm muttered under his breath but Smaug did not hear him.

"I don't like the way you brought me here." Celegorm called out to Ingwë."

"I wasn't trying to be nice either. Although I am surprised he picked you. I was hoping he went for another one."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Ingwë gestured about him.

"We thought we might as well settle if we have to fight a war."

Celegorm looked around.

"Where am I?"

"One of the remote areas in Scotland," Ingwë said. Celegorm looked at Ingwë in new light. More Elves joined them.

"You do not look the type to wear kilts."

"What?"

"Nothing," Celegorm said quickly. "So, this is what you were up to all that time when you did not contact us."

"We didn't need help."

"I didn't say you did."

"We are well-established and just starting to gather weaponry to arm the soldiers we have."

"Well, we certainly have the cavalry and the artillery but a dragon will certainly change our standing."

"If the dragons let us ride them, then even better." One of the Elves behind Ingwë said. Other Elves chuckled.

Smaug was not amused.

Smaug's jaw opened wide and he let out a loud, ear-splitting shriek. All the Elves immediately covered their ears. Then, Smaug's head whipped around and he blew fire over the nearby pasture. Celegorm slowly removed his hands from his ringing ears. The sheep let out screams of panic and pain before the only thing they could hear was the fire spreading in the pasture and the heavy silence over them.

Smaug turned his head towards them, his yellowing teeth bared in a menacing grin.

"Address me as one of your pathetic steeds or as a piece of meat and you will experience what I am truly capable of," Smaug said. "Perhaps I will burn down your little settlement and send your women and children to the Enemy to live in chains." His neck arched back, splitting the starlight behind him in rays. He looked handsome and ethereal in starlight for a creature created for the sole purpose to destroy. "Hope I made myself clear."

"Crystal," Celegorm said. His voice came out in a croak. His throat was suddenly dry. Smaug bared his teeth one last time before unravelling his massive wings. Beating them a few times and creating a wind that threw small pebbles in their faces the dragon took off, leaving them in the dust. Silence fell, except for the panicked bleating of nearby sheep that survived the fire. The other Elves sprang into action and rushed to save their livestock. Only Celegorm and Ingwë were left standing.

"We just made a deal with the devil," Celegorm said.

"Yes, we did."

"And you are fine with it?" Celegorm sounded incredulous.

"That's not the last deal we will be making with the devil." Ingwë said.

 **Author's Note:**

For laughs:

1\. I wrote this chapter.

2\. I panicked that you guys didn't like this chapter.

3\. I realized I didn't update this chapter.

4\. This was three days ago. -.-

 **Concepts:**

-What Smaug said was true; dragons were made by Morgoth to serve the purpose of artillery. These were supposed to living machines of shooting fire.

-Smaug by no means is good at heart. He is more along the lines of 'self-preservation', because they are, after all, expendables. Morgoth would easily use one and throw it away before going on to the next.

-Celegorm is the only known Elf who learned the speech of beasts and birds. He is considered to be taught by Oromë. **The idea of him unable to speak to beasts or to be ignored by them is an OC.**

- **NOTE:** I, by no means, have any form of enmity with America. In fact, I have loads of American friends who rock my world. There is a reason why I chose part of America to serve as Angband and it will be revealed later.

- **NOTE:** For the purpose of respect as well for the purpose to make this story easier and have a distinction from reality, I will not be bringing in religions into this story. Religious figures are revered and I do not wish to insult anyone. Tolkien, while writing LOTR and other parts of his Legendarium as our own history, made it clear it was only a work of fiction. Thus, while keeping most of realities into this story, I will not put religions into it to offer a wide difference between what is real and what is not.

 **PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE EXPLAINED MYSELF PROPERLY MANY TIMES OVER AND CONTINUE TO DO SO EVEN NOW. If you are not interested and do not find it your cup of tea, there are other stories out there to suit your interests. Thank you.**

 **Replies to Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest:** Thanks! I am glad you are excited. :D I am too!

 **Susanne:** I forgot to reply to you! :( I am so sorry. Of course I do not mind. It can be a little bit humorous. :D Although, I have to ask; what happened to the drawing you promised me? :D *wink nudge nudge*


	5. Captain Shaw

**Author's Note:**

Due to shortage of time, and busy schedule, this chapter has not been checked. I apologize for the rawness of this chapter.

I also apologize for not giving a chapter earlier. Here is an extra long chapter to make it worth the wait. :)

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _They came in hoards. Our army didn't stop them. These creatures with black mottled skin, snarling teeth and thin hair hanging from their heads. They smelled horrible up close. I don't know where my husband is. They took my daughter away. I am scared. I don't know where she is, or what they will do to her. They took me to this dark, dusky place. I think we are underground. What is happening?_

 _They are making me work my bones to the ground. I stole this piece of paper and used what I think is charcoal. I tried to fight in the beginning, but they had whips and chains and they weren't afraid to use it. Monsters. Some of them are Americans, just like me._

 _I will forget my identity here. But there was a time I used to be Captain Rebecca Shaw of the 74th precinct in New York._

(Found deep within a cell in a working mine. Rebecca Shaw was not found)

 _Shores of Mexico,_

 _Arda,_

Kate lowered her binoculars and gaped up at the sight of the Enemy fleet.

"That's a balrog." Kate said.

"Balrogs," Glorfindel corrected. Kate stuttered and raised her binoculars again.

Ships travelled towards the shore they were standing on. The entire horizon was filled with them. Dragons circled overhead, their beating of wings pushing the waves further and further inland with every gust of wind.

"Balrogs," Kate murmured. "This just keeps getting better and better."

The balrogs were beings enwrapped in fire and smoke. Kate knew little of them, for the Elves preferred not to speak of them. Glorfindel always remained silent whenever she asked him about his combat with one of them that led to his eventual death. Just then one of the balrogs unfurled its wings and flapped them, rising in the air. Kate stepped back hastily, even though there was no danger. Her boots sunk into the wet sand.

"I thought balrogs can't fly!"

"You really shouldn't believe everything Peter Jackson's movies taught you." Glorfindel said. They were both dressed in the grey and white, the edges clinging to them in dampness. "We have to go."

"You think!" Kate said. "Well, its obvious Celegorm is nowhere here." Just then the dragons that were going along the beach spotted them and dipped towards them.

"Celegorm wasn't our mission, Kate. Keep your head focused. We were here to access the Enemy's number-"

"Glorfindel!" Kate cried the warning.

The warrior raised his rifle and fired. These were modified to use heavy arrows with broad and sharp arrowheads in place of bullets. It was only effective when aim was true. And Glorfindel's aim was true.

The arrow hit the dragon in his underbelly, where the limb joined his body. The dragon gave a loud scream and tumbled to the ground, landing right in the water in front of them and splashing them wet. Glorfindel didn't waste time on reloading his rifle. Another dragon opened its jaws wide.

"Take cover by the body. Go!"

Kate dived towards the corpse and hid under the outspread wing. Fire rolled over her. Glorfindel did not move an inch and fired another arrow. The dragon fell a few feet from them. Kate reappeared.

"Well, at least we can tell Amrod his design works." Kate said as she checked Glorfindel for injuries. His clothes were smoking, but the fire-proof garment seemed to hold.

"It's a pain to reload." Glorfindel said through gritted teeth. He fitted another arrow onto the rifle.

They heard a roar echoing in the sky. Kate and Glorfindel both turned towards the Sea. A large, serpentine dragon with wings that seemed to cover the entire horizon loomed over the ships. It was clearly an alpha, with the way the other dragons hastily gave it space. Any who was slow to do so, the dragon had no regard. Its jaws opened wide, and even in the distance Kate could tell this was a foe difficult to beat. The dragon's jaws snapped close around the smaller dragon.

"Who is that?" Kate asked. This beast would surely have a name, given its size and obvious importance. Strangely, Glorfindel did not answer. She turned and saw the Elf had turned unnaturally pale, his hands gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Glorfindel was terrified.

"Glorfindel," Kate said, touching his wrist. He didn't respond. She shook his shoulder. "Glorfindel!"

The Vanya came to.

"We have to move." Glorfindel said. His voice was rougher than usual. "We have to move now! Call Gwaihir!"

Kate did not wait to ask. She pulled up her horn and blew a single but long note. They waited, with Glorfindel steadily pulling her back from the shore as the ships drew nearer. But Kate knew that if the dragons decided to attack them, they would not survive. Then amidst the violent, destructive flapping of dragons' wings, they could feel a steadier one. They looked up and Gwaihir landed near them. The Eagle's golden feathers were tinged silver in the starlight. It landed few feet from them.

"Quickly," Glorfindel said. Kate complied. Glorfindel mounted first and Kate sat right behind him. She held onto the feathers tightly. Her grip only loosened slightly even when Gwaihir protested. She hated heights. With a flap of the Eagle's great wings, they were in the air. Kate buried her head into Glorfindel's back, the side of the rifle digging into her cheek.

"Corsairs!" Glorfindel shouted, pointing at the ships behind the front line. Kate looked and decided looking was a mistake. Bile rose up to her throat when she saw the sheer drop to the waters below even when she noted the dark, long, crudely built but serviceable ships with multiple shields on either side. "Hands about my waist," Glorfindel ordered. With each gain of altitude, Glorfindel seemed calmer and resolute just like he always was. "You'll pull Gwaihir's feathers off." Kate complied, arms tightly wounding around the Elf's waist. If he felt pain from his grip, he didn't voice it.

She didn't know how long they flew, but when they landed, they were in a different place entirely. The stars were bright and she could see newer stars on the sky.

"Varda's gifts," She murmured. She heard the Elves speak of her. No one could find her. Perhaps in grief of what will come, she fled.

"Let's set up camp here," Glorfindel said.

It was bitterly cold, but their clothes ward off most of it. The rest of the warmth came from the blazing fire. Kate sat with her knees curled up to her chin and watched the flames dance. Across the fire sat Glorfindel. His face was thrown into sharp relief from the shadows and the firelight. The Elf did not speak of his fear. Kate did not bring it up.

"His name is Ancalagon the Black." Glorfindel said finally. Kate looked up. The Elf was staring into the fire, his hands clasped in front of him. "He was one of the greatest and mightiest winged dragons… the best of Morgoth's creations."

"But he was destroyed?"

"At great price," Glorfindel said. "When most of Morgoth's troops were felled, only few remained standing. That was when Morgoth unleashed his last and terrible assault. Among them was a hoard of dragons, the best of the best. And Ancalagon was their leader. The dragons consider him one of the fathers of dragons. In the terms of the modern world, he is the alpha who cannot be beaten."

"How was he killed?"

"Eärendil was the one to kill him. He had his ship and the Silmaril…" Glorfindel tilted his head and raised a brow sardonically, "And a lot of luck. Ancalagon would not fall for the same trap twice."

"There is time to plan for everything."

"Time," Glorfindel said. Then he shook his head. "We need more strongholds. Time is not our friend, Kate. The ships bearing the dead will need places to call their own. Even with them on our side, Morgoth still has the upper hand. We need to cripple his forces, destroy them, and make sure they do not have the nuclear assets to use against us as well as cut off their fuel supply. There is no time; perhaps we will only have it if the Valar could gift us time." Glorfindel heaved a sigh. "I do not know how we will win this war."

"You were terrified of Ancalagon," Kate said. "But not of balrogs?"

Glorfindel quirked a humourless smile.

"You lose your fear for something that you have faced. But Anacalagon," he shook his head. "The tales were grim and the paintings made of him were terrible. Those who survived the flames of the dragons told stories to chill the bones. And they eventually succumbed to their wounds."

Kate thought about the balrogs. If it weren't for their deathly powers, she would have thought them beautiful in their own way. Their bodies were completely black, born from shadow, and the edges flaming from burning red fire. They had no hair, but only flames flickering on their heads. They were slim and slender but powerfully built just the same.

"Not all balrogs have wings," Glorfindel said. "Gothmog had no wings."

"Who is the leader of balrogs?"

"Gothmog," Glorfindel said.

"You killed him?"

"No. Ecthelion did." Glorfindel said. "And he gave his life doing it. Demons of fire, we called them. The Maiar cursed them, for the balrogs were once Maiar in origin. But Morgoth seduced them, turned them into creatures of shadow and fire. They are not many in number, but each one is almost too powerful. You either die directly in battle or by the wounds they give you." Glorfindel's eyes were glazed. Kate wondered if he still remembered the Fall of Gondolin as vividly as if it had been yesterday even after so many years. He looked like he did. "Ecthelion died before me," Glorfindel said. "We were separated when the ranks of balrogs appeared, nearly one thousand. They broke down on us. One of them was pursuing Tuor and his family. Not all of the people had left. I challenged that balrog, made sure everyone had the time to flee. And I gave my life. I would do it again." Kate kept her eyes on Glorfindel, ignoring the dead surrounding them.

"What about Celegorm?"

"Celegorm knows how to take care of himself," Glorfindel said. "And something tells me that Smaug has plans. He would have killed Celegorm immediately if he wanted to. He is not the type to play with his food."

"How reassuring," Kate said dryly.

"I wasn't being reassuring." Glorfindel said with a dry smile. "In any case, I think you should meet with the ships. You will see your entire ancestry, and perhaps a decision of leadership would be reached."

"I am not a leader." Kate said.

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head.

"No, you are not." He said. "You have another purpose. I am sure of that."

Kate looked up, just past Glorfindel's shoulder, directly into the eyes of Thorontur's fëa.

oOo

 _Houses of Healing,_

 _Tol Antanë,_

Amras sat on his chair and watched the small African boy play around the room with a little fear. So far, the boy was fine. But that did not reduce the anxiety he was feeling.

The guilt of what Amras had done weighed heavily on him. Such a sacrifice of morality! He refused to face his brothers, didn't even have the courage to face Arodien, not after he had said that he would harm no child.

And yet here was an African child barely five years old whom he had inoculated with the disease that was killing everyone of Haradrim descent. The disease was obviously DNA-oriented.

"Ruan," Amras called the boy softly. Ruan looked up and Amras beckoned him. The boy left his book and obediently stood in front of him. Amras patted him on his head and kissed his forehead. Still no fever. Apparently his sober mood bored the boy, because he wrestled out of his arms and went back to playing with his toys. Lion King played on the TV set.

He heard a hard rap on the window screen. Ruan did not bother to look up but Amras did. He found his wife standing outside, her caramel-coloured hair in a simple braid over her shoulder and frighteningly angry. Amras sighed and went to the door and stepped outside. He pulled her away from the window so that Ruan did not see them have their fight. His wife was a Vanya, belonging to a family with cool emotions and expressionless masks for faces. Right now, she was furious.

"How could you?" She demanded.

"I had to do something."

"You said there were like your children! Like our children! And here you have one of them as your little experiment!"

"It would save hundreds." Amras said. She attempted to go past him and enter the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "You can't." She wrenched her arm free and glared at him before turning her heel and walking off.

"You are sleeping on the couch tonight!" She shouted over her shoulder. "And if anything happens to him, then you will never see me as your wife again!"

Amras sighed. He hated being the son of Fëanor. He felt it had an impact on his sense of morality.

The message of Arodien's return to Redwood Forest came to him and he ordered others to ready her and her things for the flight within the hour. The weather was chilly. Amras saw the Queen of Redwood standing in wait for the craft. Arodien's hand rested on her swollen belly, the cloak covered her shoulders and arms.

"The weather is changing." Amras said.

"There is no sun to warm the earth," Arodien said. "No moon to pull or push the tides. I am surprised the world isn't thrown into chaos."

"I know world beyond the world of the sun and moon, my lady," Amras said.

"Oh, yes, you were born during the life of the Two Trees."

The smile on Amras' face was bright and full of love for a childhood he had.

"Yes."

"What were they like? The Trees?"

"Their beauty could not be described in words or captured in paint," Amras said. "My father used to say that, until, of course, he captured their light in the Silmarils." The smile faded, and Amras looked bitter, no doubt remembering the War of the Silmarils and the wretchedness that followed it. Arodien decided to change the topic.

"Do you really think I am free to go?" Arodien asked. Amras smiled to console her.

"I wouldn't let you leave my care if I wasn't." Amras said.

"And the baby? You said the umbilical cord-"

"The cord is only wrapped loosely, my lady," Amras said. "Give it more time and I am confident it will unwind itself. Even if it doesn't, it's not something a C-section would not fix." Arodien looked less worried. Seeing that this was the last moment he would speak to Arodien on his own ground, he decided a little plunge of information would be best.

"Your husband was upset with you." Amras said.

"Your wife was angry with you earlier." Arodien countered.

"Just a little domestic issue," Amras said. "What about you?"

"Just a little domestic issue," Arodien said. Amras burst out laughing.

"My lady, you would be a remarkable queen when your husband is off to war."

A shadow passed over Arodien's face and she placed both her hands on her belly.

"I just hope he returns after every war." Arodien said.

Amras wanted to reassure her but the problem was, there was no assurance for such a statement.

"Safe travels, Queen," Amras said. "Every storm must pass."

Later, Arodien realized he meant it in more ways than just one.

oOo

 _Thranduil's Halls,_

 _Redwood Forest,_

Thranduil stood by the open doorway with thumping heart. The doors were wide open. Elves gathered around to meet their Queen and catch a glimpse of her. Arodien left the Halls, wounded and unconscious. Everyone was eager to see her. Thranduil had to admit he was too.

Nimdir was the one who had gone to meet her at the forest line from the craft that brought her here. A transport carrier would bring her to the Halls. It was nearly an hour trip there and back. With each minute that passed, the anticipation grew higher.

Finally a forest green and dark brown coloured carrier came into view. It stopped a few feet away from the Halls. A murmur rose up. Nimdir came out from the front seat and swung open the back door. Arodien stepped outside, dressed in light blue embroidered in swans. Thranduil's heart was relieved to see her walking on her own. She had grown larger in her absence. Nimdir held her hand and helped her up the steps, but it was clear she could walk easily on her own.

The silence was loud in Thranduil's ears when she approached him. She looked up to him with a hesitant smile that quickly faded when he remained impassive. Formality took over and still holding Nimdir's hand, she began to sink into a deep curtsy. Seeing this, Thranduil immediately went into action. He stopped her curtsy by placing his hands on both her arms and lifting her to her full height. She looked up sharply, her eyes searching his face.

"Welcome home, my Queen." He said. There was relief on Arodien's features and when he held her close, she rested her head on his chest. Her shoulders shook. When she stepped back, she was wiping her eyes hastily.

"It is wonderful to be back, my love." She returned. They were far from reconciling, but they can try to take the first steps.

"Behold the return of your Queen!" A shout went up and the Elves cheered. Some of Arodien's friends and family came up and Thranduil stepped back and let them have their turns in greeting her. Arodien was overwhelmed but she met each one with a smile and a laugh. It was clear she was dreading meeting him and the rest of her people.

After the feast, Mithon led the couple up to their rooms.

"Oh," Arodien faltered. "I don't think I should stay in your-"

"Our-" Thranduil interrupted firmly. The conversation sounded odd to Mithon, but Arodien regarded her husband with a newfound gratitude. Nemireth was already there to receive her son and his wife.

"Everyone was so happy." Arodien said. "It was so beautiful to see."

Arodien settled on a chair by the fire and Thranduil knelt beside her and covered her with a blanket.

"Yes," Thranduil said, looking directly at her. "It was."

Arodien blushed. Both husband and wife were oddly wary around each other. They seemed to tiptoe around each other, but there was tenderness as well. Arodien placed her hand on his cheek.

"You look weary, my husband. You have not looked after yourself."

"I am on my feet. That means I am taking care of myself more than I usually do."

Arodien laughed.

"Do you wish me to sing?" Arodien's question was shy, apprehensive. Thranduil took her hand that stroked his cheek and kissed her fingers.

"Later. For now I wish you would rest. Tell me instead how you fare."

Nemireth tapped Mithon's shoulder, making the guard flush for being caught watching such an intimate scene. They left the room silently and closed the door behind them.

oOo

 _Thranduil's Halls,_

 _Redwood Forest,_

"I see our shipments have arrived." Thranduil commented.

"Yes," Hanon said.

"Where is Olben?"

"Overseeing the storage," Hanon said. The entrance was flooded with crates resting one over the other, with Elves working around them. "We are still looking but so far, the order is fully accounted for." Hanon brought Thranduil to a nearby crate with a half-open lid. He pulled out a heavy, reinforced rifle, but instead of bullets, it was customized to hold an arrow. It was unloaded. "Dale rifles." Thranduil held it in his hands. It was heavy but not overly so. "Over the shoulder." Hanon directed. The weight was easier to manage when the butt of the rifle rested over his shoulder. "These are the arrows." Hanon took the rifle, fitted an arrow, and gave it back to the King. Thranduil aimed at a wall, focusing on a small notch.

"Uh, my lord, I don't think you should-"

Thranduil fired. The metallic arrow left the rifle with gust of quick air and embedded itself half deep into the stone wall. Both of them looked at it stunned.

"That would shred a creature to ribbons." Thranduil said.

"Yes, well," Hanon said, taking the rifle from Thranduil quickly. "I would make sure no one fires them within the Halls. That way we won't have arrows sticking into our walls."

Thranduil laughed.

"So tell me, is there any way we can learn the art of making these arrows?" Thranduil said. "I was thinking that we need a military factory for producing more weapons."

"Amrod said to send him some of our smiths. He will teach them to manufacture new ammunition."

"Even so, we need a factory for this." Thranduil said.

"There are abandoned factories nearby, along with military bases," Hanon said.

"What kind?"

"I could find out."

"Do it." Thranduil said.

A shout went up and there was more activity than usual just outside the entrance. Thranduil and Hanon glanced at each other before wordlessly going to the entrance to see what the fuss was about.

The Elves parted, revealing a grim-looking Elf with black hair carelessly braided. He held a backpack that he slung over his shoulder.

"Dorián!" Thranduil cried, hurrying down the steps. "Thank the Valar. We were beginning to worry."

"Sire," Dorián said. "I would like to discuss something in private."

"Of course," Thranduil said, stopping Dorián's formal bow and holding him at arm's length. In spite of the condition of his clothes and hair, Dorián looked well-fed and taken care of. Something strange must have happened. "Hanon, is there anything else?"

"No, Sire," Hanon said. "We can take care of everything."

"Good," Thranduil said. "Come inside, Dorián. Let's see if a change of clothes and some food could fix the most of you…"

Dorián was provided with fresh clothes for his daughters, and his hair was combed, quickly cut to a manageable length and left free when he came to meet the King. No one else was in the room except for the two of them. Dorián started slowly, before the entire story flowed out.

"Galadriel," Thranduil repeated. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She will never change."

"I would suggest not taking this incident as ill will between us and the Grey Elves."

"Not take it as ill will? She captured my spy and held him-you- in custody without my knowledge."

"She only wanted to know what I had learned so far and see if I could tell her anything about you."

"Did you?"

"Do you doubt it, Sire?"

"I should doubt everyone as of late," Thranduil said with a humourless chuckle. Dorián frowned, his eyebrows snapping together.

"That's an odd thing to say." Dorián looked around, obviously noting a certain someone's absence. "Where is Thorontur? How come Fion did not come to meet me?"

With a pang in Thranduil's heart, he realized Dorián still didn't know.

"Much has happened." Thranduil said.

"What does that mean?" Dorián asked sharply.

"You said that you installed a virus into their defences."

"In their mainframe to be precise," Dorián said. "We will see everything."

"Good," Thranduil said. "What about you? How were you treated?"

Thinking about how his prison was programmed to look like a cell of Dol Guldur, where he once spent a time as a prisoner, Dorián nearly winced. Knowing his King, Thranduil would take Galadriel to task for that.

"Other than being held in a cell, I was treated well. There was food and water plenty."

"Don't lie to me. I know you are holding something back." Thranduil said.

"How-"

Thranduil held up his hand wordlessly, the Ring of Storm shining on his finger.

"Ah."

"Its powers have a limit but you will be impressed by what you can accomplish if you hone yourself to it." Thranduil said, remembering how Oropher and Arodien managed to evade the Ring with half-truths. "It was a skill I learned the hard way."

"You are speaking in riddles, my lord."

"Well, Legolas can explain all of them. He will be coming any moment."

As soon as he said that, the door opened and Legolas strode in. Dorián found himself off his chair and into a chest-breaking hug.

"You are alive!" Legolas said, clutching on to his friend.

"I-I won't be… for long if you don't loosen your hold." Dorián gasped. Legolas let him go and Dorián took in a deep breath.

"You have much to discuss. And I have much to do." Thranduil said. "I will see you later."

"He is acting strange." Dorián said.

"He is just a bit preoccupied. A lot of things happened."

"Right. Where is Thorontur?"

Legolas looked at him warily.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No. Tell me what?"

"Thorontur's dead, Dorián."

Dorián's head reeled. He grabbed onto the back of his chair for support.

"What? How?"

"Some weeks back." Legolas looked more wary now. There was pity mixed in his expression. "Fion killed him."

It took him a minute for his words to sink it. When it did, Dorián grabbed onto Legolas' throat and pushed him back the wall.

"You lie," he hissed.

"It's not a lie." Legolas said, gripping onto the wrist of the hand clasped around his throat. Dorián's grip was firm, rough but not tight.

"This happened while we didn't hear from you, there was a picnic-"

Dorián's face crumbled to a look of dread.

"We heard of creatures passing through the forest and father and the rest of us decided to check-"

"No-"

"Thorontur and Fion stayed behind with the two Queens."

"Legolas, no-"

"We heard guns and a scream, we went back. Father was there first, and Maedhros' wife was dead, along with Melion and Thorontur-"

"No, no-"

"Fion tried to kill my mother!"

"YOU'RE LYING!" Dorián nearly shouted. He pressed down on Legolas' throat, nearly strangling him and breaking off as soon as he did. He stepped back, shaking his head side to side. "No, he wouldn't… Legolas he looked after us when we were apprentices. He loved your father like a brother- he wouldn't- he couldn't-"

Legolas reached out for Dorián, but the younger Elf pushed away his hands roughly. Legolas reached out again. This time, it was Dorián hugging Legolas into a tight embrace. The two of them collapsed to the ground, each of them feeling more like a child with the truth of past crumbling around them. That one Elf whom they looked up to, admired, and even teased… a traitor?

"First Arodis, now Fion-"

"I know."

Dorián was crying freely now. Legolas held him close and cried too.

oOo

 _Shores of England,_

 _Arda,_

Thranduil chose high ground to stand on as he looked on to the sea. White winged ships with large blue sails bearing the banners of Alqualondë were quickly approaching, casting long pale reflections on the waters.

"You know, I still don't understand what you are doing here?" Thranduil told Celeborn. The Elf had arrived a few hours earlier.

"I wanted to meet the coming ships too." Celeborn said.

"And it has nothing to do with seeing everyone's reactions to the sons of Fëanor?"

"Absolutely not."

"You are a terrible liar."

"You could do a better job in hiding your glee."

Thranduil laughed. His smile faded when he saw Dorián and Legolas standing together not far from him. Dorián looked more tired and aggrieved than he had ever seen him. He looked as if he aged thirty years.

Legolas regarded Dorián before tugging on his arm to catch his attention.

"Come on," Legolas said, clapping Dorián on the back. "We can forget our worries here. Let's go and meet them and be merry for once."

The ships reached the docks and soon the entire land was covered with Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves and Men. The mortals were dressed fully in white and some Elves were dressed in coloured clothes and the others who were revived were in white. Legolas pushed through the crowd of Men and Hobbits, his eyes searching for familiar faces. Dorián had disappeared among the Elves to look for his parents. Suddenly he felt a large thump on his shoulder. He turned and found him face-to-face with a fresh-faced, Rohirric youth.

"Bradford?" Legolas asked in surprise. The youth flashed him a white grin.

"I knew you would recognize me." He said. He was dressed in white. In fact, all of them were dressed in white. "It is good to see you!" The youth pulled him in a hug. Legolas returned the embrace, feeling the strength in the Man's arms. This was the army of the Valar.

"Where is your King?" Legolas asked Éothain. The Rohirric looked over Legolas' shoulder and grinned. Dreading what was behind him, Legolas turned. In front of him stood Elfwine, Éomer, Théoden, and other Men he did not recognize. But due to the resemblance in features, he judged all of them were related.

"Which king?" Elfwine, Éomer and Théoden chorused. Éothain thumped him hard on his back.

"Generations of kings, Master Elf!" Éothain said. "All the way back to the first King of Rohan, Eorl himself!"

"Well that is something." Legolas remarked. Then he turned his attention to Éomer. "I met your descendant. Her name is Miranda. She is a feisty one and has your temper."

"I would be happy to meet her."

"Her other ancestor is Amrothos."

Éothain guffawed.

"Wonderful," Éomer said, smile fading, but it was clear he was just joking.

"Yes," Éothain said. Then his smile faltered a little. "A girl entered my halls before we disembarked for this world. She was young, not even ten summers. She was raped and killed by her wounds. Her name was Dawn and she said she knew an Elf."

"My father," Legolas said.

"He didn't save her."

"He tried." Legolas said. "She was your descendant."

"Yes."

"She didn't come with you?" Legolas thought his father would be overjoyed to see her, but Éothain shook his head.

"Children who died recently were not allowed to return to Arda. This world will be nothing for them to live in. They are happier in the halls. Although, I doubt it matters if we do not win it."

"I doubt Morgoth's hand could reach to your halls."

"Anything is possible." Éothain smiled at him. "Have you met the Fellowship yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"Master Gimli won't be pleased."

"I am sure. The short goat will have my head."

He felt a sharp kick at his shins that made Legolas stumble into Éothain. He blinked away tears from the pain and looking down to see a furious Dwarf peer up at him with coal-black eyes.

"Short goat, eh?" Gimli growled. "I leave the comforts of my halls to check if that sorry backside of yours found itself in the grave but instead I have you standing here chatting with good-for-nothing man of Rohan while I waste my time scouring these wretched unfamiliar plains for your pointy-eared, pig-headed, disproportioned figure-"

Laughing, Legolas knelt and embraced Gimli.

"It is good to see you alive and well!" Legolas said, the bruise forgotten.

"Don't forget us!" Pippin and Merry said hurriedly, bursting between the Rohirrim. They surrounded Legolas on all sides.

"Granted we are not that important-" Merry said.

"But we are still the Fellowship just the same."

"And we are finally reunited." Frodo said, smiling at Legolas. "It's good to see you."

"Not completely united, I am afraid." Legolas said. "Gandalf still has to make an appearance."

"I wonder where he ran off to." Pippin said.

"Probably up and about his odd wizard's business!"

Legolas felt a hand grab the back of his collar and lift him up. He turned and found himself face to face with Aragorn.

"You know, you really should meet everyone first before chatting."

Legolas laughed. They hugged, thumping each other hard on the back.

 _"You are a sight for weary eyes, my friend."_ Legolas said in Sindarin, pulling back from Aragorn. Next he met with Boromir, who looked a bit taken aback from the warmth of Legolas' greeting but soon recovered.

"How many people have returned to Arda, I wonder." Sam said, screwing his forehead in thought.

"Everyone, I believe," Legolas said, his arm around Aragorn's shoulders. "From the time Arda was first created all up to now."

"So that ratted Gollum would be alive too, I am sure." Sam said darkly. "Boy, will I give him a piece of my mind for tearing off your finger, Mister Frodo."

"Now, now, Sam," Frodo said patiently. "Maybe Smeagol changed since then."

"Right, and my ol' Gaffer is actually a Man dressed as a Hobbit." Sam said. Legolas only laughed.

"Let's put aside the things we want to have reckoning of and simply enjoy ourselves. Come, you should meet my son and wife."

"What? You married?" Sam asked.

"Without us?" Pippin asked in wounded tone.

"And I assure you the wedding was very peaceful," Legolas said dryly.

Celeborn and Thranduil, however, did not bother coming down from their high perch. They stood in relaxed positions to watch people meet one another. Laughter rose up, filling the sky and lightening everyone's hearts.

"Legolas is missing this."

"He has his friends to meet with."

There was a look of surprise and horror on Elrond's face. Maglor looked uncomfortable and then he said something. Elrond answered him and punched him so hard on the jawline that Maglor stumbled.

"That was so satisfying to look at." Thranduil drawled.

Celeborn burst out laughing beside him.

"Indeed."

"Please don't enjoy it too much at our expense."

The new voice made them both turn. Maedhros and Maglor stood side by side.

"Ah, you came. I thought perhaps meeting everyone you killed or gave grief might have frightened you off."

Maedhros made a face. Thranduil shook a finger towards Maglor.

"Weren't you supposed to be in America?"

"I got called back."

"By who?"

"Mother."

"I like Lady Nerdanel." Thranduil said. "Now, go on. Go down there and give us all a show."

"Maedhros, meet Fingon first." Celeborn called as the two brothers went down. Maedhros flicked a rude gesture at Celeborn.

"Oh. Look. Fingon noticed Maedhros first."

"Well, that's obvious. Redheads are very rare in our kind."

But while they eagerly expected raised voices and daggered looks, Fingon only hugged his cousin tightly.

"How disappointing."

"Elrond then."

Maedhros returned to them, wearing a smug look on his face.

"Well, that wasn't so bad." Maedhros said. "I am fine, thank you for asking Thranduil."

Thranduil ignored him.

"Don't worry, Maedhros that is only one Elf among hundreds who hate you."

"How optimistic of you."

"That's Tinúviel."

"Yes."

"I will make sure Celegorm gets to meet her."

Celeborn burst out laughing.

"Thranduil, you are utterly diabolical."

"Some people just want to watch the world burn." Maedhros said, shaking his head.

"Oh, look, Caranthir just noticed Tinúviel." Thranduil said.

All of them looked just in time to see Caranthir's face go pale underneath his ruddy-coloured skin.

"I just love it when the past comes back, don't you?" Thranduil said, laughing. He clapped Maedhros hard on his back, making him wince. "Oh, look." Thranduil said, pointing. "See that? I would mistake him for Elrond if it weren't for the shorter hair. Go." With a mighty push, he hauled Maedhros towards Elrond's twin, Elros.

"A set of mithril armour Elros will react to Maglor first." Celeborn said.

"My crown and kingdom that he will react to Maedhros first," Thranduil said. Celeborn raised his brows.

"You offer me your kingdom."

"Yes. And you lost."

Elros saw both the Fëanorian brothers who took him in his childhood. Maglor's face sparked shock but it was after seeing Maedhros that he looked furious. The King of Númenórean Kings barrelled straight into Maedhros and shook him by the shoulders.

"YOU ABANDONED US!"

"Oh dear," Celeborn said. "Childhood feelings are very hard to let go after so long, especially negativities." They maintained the pleasant surprise and humour as they watched the exchange.

"You know I think we are enjoying this too much." Thranduil said. They watched as Maedhros tried to console him and Elrond pull his brother back. Elros was still staring accusatory daggers at Maedhros.

"Oh, no, we could enjoy this a little bit more."

"Thranduil, those are the Elves killed in Sirion," Celeborn said, gesturing at the Elves who progressively pushed through crowds to reach Maedhros and Maglor. Elros looked less angry, enough to tolerate Maedhros hug him. Shouting ensued. Elros and Maedhros broke apart and Elrond pulled his brother away.

"Thranduil, I think we need to stop this."

"I think they are doing just fine."

"Thranduil-" Finrod looked like he was trying to stop the rising mob.

"Besides the Valar are not intervening."

"The Valar's powers are weak! Do something!"

"Oh, I don't think-"

Just then, one of the Elves behind Finrod grabbed hold of Maglor by the neckline of his shirt. Thranduil's humour disappeared.

"Okay, playtime's over." Thranduil said.

The Ring of Storm flared. A barrier shot up between Maedhros and Maglor and the rest, pushing them apart. It wasn't much force, but it was enough to stun them. Thranduil marched forward, forcing Celeborn to hurry behind him. Silence fell and the Elves parted as Thranduil made his way through them.

"I know everyone is angry," Thranduil said in a pleasant loud voice, making sure it carried. "But I would like to have the sons of Fëanor unharmed please." He stood, staring down Maedhros as the Noldo rose to his feet. Maedhros returned the stare with his own, lips twitching upwards. "Anyone who hurts them… well, I will not be pleased." Thranduil raised a brow at the Elves who tried to attack Maedhros and Maglor. "And making one of the few Elves with strongholds in Arda angry is not a wise decision."

"Thank you." Maedhros said.

"I didn't do it for you."

Maedhros raised a brow, his dry humour returning.

"I will take that as a 'you're welcome' then…"

Thranduil smiled.

oOo

 _Ingwë's Stronghold,_

 _Scotland,_

The dragons were waiting for them out of the city. A few of them flapped their wings and folded them again.

"They are ready for us." Ingwë said. "The ships have reached England's shores. We need to go."

Celegorm, on the other hand, had more pressing problems. He shifted his pants and then loosened his collar irritably.

"Cheaply made castle."

"What?"

"Nothing," Celegorm said. Then he glared at Ingwë. "You gave me a size tad too small, didn't you?" He asked Ingwë. The King looked amused.

"No, I just directed my wife to stitch the neckline a little tight."

"So I see that you still don't like me."

"I wouldn't say we are on the best of terms." Ingwë paused. "And I found out what kilts are. I am not amused."

Celegorm burst out laughing. He gripped his collar with both his hands and tore it down a bit. He instantly felt comfortable.

"My wife will be heartbroken for how you treated her personally embroidered shirt."

"Oh, she won't be too depressed, I am sure."

Ingwë chuckled and shook his head.

"Let's go and meet those ships, shall we?" Ingwë said.

"Forgive me if I do not share your enthusiasm."

"Ah, yes. You are the one who has many Elves wanting to cut your throat. How quaint."

"Very," Celegorm mumbled. He wondered what it would be like. His thoughts went to Tinúviel and he gave a shudder.

"You know what would be worse?" Ingwë said over his shoulder. "If your wife would be there to witness it."

Realizing the Vanya understood his thoughts, Celegorm hoped he could persuade the dragons to drop Ingwë from a high altitude.

oOo

 _Thranduil's Halls,_

 _Redwood Forest,_

There was considerably more activity in his Halls after the arrival of the ships. Most of the Silvan Elves chose Thranduil's forest as their place to call home. Thranduil did not mind; there was plenty of space, but he did not miss the looks Amroth and his father gave him. They were not hostile, but calculating, sharp.

"Power play," he murmured. And he could feel himself being pulled into it.

And they were not the only ones. Passing by others, he found himself under constant scrutiny. He was revered too, he realized, perhaps for his ability to live in this strange world with new technology for so long. The Fëanoriannath were regarded with open hostility, something that Thranduil knew to expect. He himself was wary of them. But he hoped it would fade quickly. There was no time for such trivial matters. But amongst the Noldorin who met the sons of Fëanor happily. Most of them were soldiers who had no qualms on coming forward to greet their once-commanders. With Maedhros and Caranthir, they were wary, but with Maglor and the rest they met whole-heartedly.

Wanting to escape the crowds, he decided to go to the lowermost levels where the most scenic beauties of the Halls lay. Here the Halls were blissfully silent.

He stopped in front of Dawn's statue. The statue was not weathered by the years. It was in good shape. Thranduil dug his hands in the pockets of his pants and smiled at it. Nerdanel's work with stone was remarkable. The innocence and happiness in Dawn's expression was well-captured.

"She is in a safer place."

Thranduil turned at the unfamiliar feminine voice. A woman, young in looks, strode towards him. She would have been mistaken to belong to the Race of Men had it not been for the fact that her pale white skin glowed and her eyes held wisdom one could gain from sorrow and woe. Her silver hair was combed smooth and pulled into a high hairstyle.

"Lady Nienna," Thranduil said, inclining his head. He never met her directly but he had seen her from time to time in festivals back in Aman. But she was mostly a recluse, weeping sorrow for the Trees lost and for Arda Marred. Her time was spent gifting sleep to those who needed it.

"The Race of Men call me Queen," she said with a quirk of her lips. "But I am no Queen. Simply a lady suffices."

Thranduil said nothing, unsure of what reply he should give. But Nienna expected none. She turned her attention towards the statue.

"Poor child," she murmured. "She didn't deserve the death she was given. Her life was snatched away from her. She suffered greatly before you rescued her. Those men were vile, lesser than humans and worthless scum." Thranduil stiffened, knowing precisely what she hinted. "The only thing they wanted from her was her life, and that was all. She cried desperately and I could not bear to hear it." Tears swelled into the gentle lady's eyes. "I whispered her to sleep and offered her no dreams so that she could fear or worry about nothing."

"Why are you telling me this?" Thranduil managed to ask. His voice sounded tortured to his own years. "I have mourned her death more times than I could count!"

"I know." Nienna's voice was tender as a mother's, but full of forbidden knowledge. "You have tortured yourself in finding an answer as to why she was the one to suffer. As you torture yourself to find alternatives. You wish things had not gone the way they had gone, and at the same time you plan for the future. You have taken great burden on yourself, son of Oropher." Nienna turned her coal-black eyes at him and suddenly Thranduil felt he could not look at anything else. Not that he wanted to; her eyes were mesmerising. She stepped forward, her grey robes rustling over the pebbles. "Even the sleep you take brings you no rest. You are weary, son of Oropher." She raised her hand for him to take. "Come. You need sleep."

Thranduil, entranced, suddenly realized she was right. He was tired. He could feel it in his bones and flesh. His head was heavy. His eyes were tired. And he had recent memories he would prefer to forget.

"I can help with that." Nienna said softly as if she read his thoughts. He raised his hand and nearly put it in hers.

"What are you doing?" A harsh voice called out to them.

The spell broke. Thranduil quickly pulled his hand back. Nienna looked disappointed but her eyes no longer held the power to draw him in. Thranduil looked to find Oromë, furious, marching up to them in long strides.

"We were speaking of memories, my friend," Nienna said.

"And I assume they are the ones to wear the fëa, friend." Oromë returned. His suspicious glare did not falter. Thranduil only watched the exchange in stunned silence. He could not make out what happened. The feeling of weariness did not go away with the spell. He shook his head in an attempt to lighten it.

"I will take my leave." Thranduil said. "I might be needed by my council."

The two Valar glared at each other until he turned to leave.

"Thranduil," Nienna called. Thranduil turned and saw warmth in Nienna's eyes. A promise. "If things become too overwhelming and your arm can no longer lift your sword, then come to me. Let me lighten that burden for you."

Thranduil nodded and awkwardly bowed before leaving.

"I will speak to your brothers in restraining you from further using your powers." Oromë said angrily. The lady transformed before his eyes from a soft-spoken maiden to a wrathful spirit.

"My powers are mine to freely give and bestow." Nienna's voice held an echo to it. Dawn's statue was between the two, her eyes gazing vacantly into space. There was an ethereal, silvery glow in her form. Her eyes were darkening. "You have no right to meddle in my affairs, Forester!" She grew less wrathful. The glow was still about her. "My brothers cannot and will not restrain me, Oromë. They wouldn't dare. There is danger if you are… too deep in your sleep."

Oromë sighed.

"He isn't ready." He said. "If he sleeps your healing sleep, he won't wake in time for the battle."

"If he doesn't sleep, there will be nothing left of him after the battle." Nienna's anger completely disappeared. "And the same for Maedhros. They are tired, Oromë. Both of them. The years have taken a toll on them."

"I know." Oromë said. "They won't be the only ones."

oOo

 _Thranduil's Halls,_

 _Redwood Forest,_

Large, long tents were set up. These were gifts from the Teleri, to the Noldo. The cloths were weather-proof. Food was served, the cooks made the easiest food to serve thousands; soup. The cooks over the ages helped. The Hobbits cut the vegetables and kneaded the dough. The Men brought the utensils full of water. Large cooking fires were brought, lighting the plains up. On the knoll that Thranduil stood on, it was a breath taking sight.

He focused on his wife not far from where he stood. She was dressed in white, a thin light blue sleeveless cloak covering her form. One of her handmaidens walked closely beside her. Thranduil noted how she held on to the maid's hand when she bent or straightened. In spite of the discomfort, she continued to meet the Ellyth and women wherever she found them.

"Look at her," Oropher said, coming up to stand beside Thranduil. Suddenly sensing him, Thranduil stiffened. "She is a natural."

Thranduil turned his attention back to his wife and his manner considerably softened. His father was right. Arodien was smiling softly, understandably and merrily depending on whatever she heard but the smile remained always. It was like she was born to be a queen. At the moment, she was speaking to some mothers, all of whom had small children clinging to their knees. One of them reached out and placed her hand on Arodien's belly and said something, whereupon his wife laughed and patted that hand.

"Whatever she did, she did out of love and duty," Oropher said. "Just like I did."

"A queen, an expecting mother of our ally is dead because of this secret." Thranduil said. "Your actions were misplaced."

"It's not the first mistake I have done," Oropher said. "What of Maedhros? He always spoke that the Sacking of Doriath was not intended and he took woe of it every day."

"That is no justification!" Thranduil hissed.

"And what of Dawn?"

"Don't you dare take her name."

"You suspected what would happen. And yet you made no move to secure her and her family."

"And I regret it every day and I make no justifications for it."

"I am not justifying anything, Thranduil," Oropher said. There was something in his voice. Thranduil looked at his father and saw in wonder that his father looked aged, his shoulders bent and eyes exhausted. "I am just saying that the borders of morality are becoming shadier by the minute. The Elves from Sirion have to forgive Maedhros and Maglor in a matter of few hours to days. The Race of Men will have to learn to let go of their differences. Crimes will go unanswered so that we can fight together in unity." Oropher looked at him and they made eye contact. "She loves you. Very much so. Remember that."

oOo

 _Thranduil's Halls,_

 _Redwood Forest,_

"Those are a lot of Elves in one place." Miranda said with a low whistle. The Halls were more populated than either of them had seen from the year it was built.

"Yep. And there are Hobbits, Men and Dwarves mixed among them." Alice said. Then she frowned. "Hey, your ancestors Éomer and Amrothos would be among them too."

Miranda gave an unattractive grunt.

"Wouldn't they be happy their lines joined and made you?"

"Alice, buzz off."

Alice ignored her. The two had too close a friendship that Miranda did not bother speaking more.

"Imagine Marilyn Monroe waking up." Alice said. "You could tell how killed her or she committed suicide. Or-or Titanic's people who died at sea are resurrected. Or all those people who went missing and never found will be alive and we can speak to them and find out how or why-"

"We have to consider freaks like Adolf Hitler as well." Miranda said.

"I don't think Thranduil knows we are here."

"Oh no, he will know in a moment we are here. I am sure his people are keeping tabs for everyone entering and leaving his halls. Plus he is developing a creepy way of knowing where things are."

"Look, Miranda, there is that guy you wanted to hit for the Russian roulette." Alice said. Miranda turned her head. She found two beings, both looking more Elf-like and yet still having an appearance of being something more, regarding her. One looked at her warily, his image reminding her of forest greens and golden sunlight, and the other, who wore a crown on his head, reminded her of wind and sky. Switching her eyes back to the first one, she stalked up to him in determination.

Thranduil reached them just in time to witness Miranda deliver an epic punch on Oromë's jaw. The Vala was weakened in power and exhausted in spirit. He didn't fall, but he nearly stumbled. Miranda gasped in pain and rubbed her bruised knuckles.

"I always wanted to do that to you, Béma, from the first moment I heard of you." Miranda told him. Alice stood behind her, grinning from ear to ear. Curiously, Manwë too was grinning ear to ear behind Oromë. "Thanks for screwing up my life."

"I hope I am not given the same treatment from your betrothed, descendant of Éomer," Oromë said, standing straight again. His bruise was disappearing quickly. Miranda flushed red.

"Betrothed?" Thranduil asked when he reached them. Miranda's angry flush went even darker.

"Jimmy," Miranda said. Thranduil nodded once when he understood.

"Ah."

"Don't you dare laugh."

"I won't." Thranduil promised solemnly, firmly pushing down the chuckle rising in his throat. Miranda glared at him before giving an irritated gesture.

"I am not here for these games!" Miranda said. "I heard the people of Rohan are here as well as the people from Gondor. I would like to speak to their leaders. We have lands to distribute amongst ourselves before the Enemy decides to instead."

"Right," Thranduil said, shifting to business. He noted with mild annoyance how much had changed. Before, there used to be time to chit chat and leisure. Now there was none. "They are resting right now. I suggest you to catch some sleep as well. We can talk later."

"Good."

"Oh, don't mind me," Alice said out loud. She was still grinning. "I am just a foot soldier of Lord Celegorm. No one important."

"We don't care." Miranda and Thranduil said at the same time. Alice just grinned wider. She passed by Oromë with folded arms across her chest.

"Don't worry," Alice told him. "I am no glorious descendant. I don't hold a grudge against you… yet." She followed Thranduil and Miranda until the two Vala were left alone.

"And this is why I keep telling you not to meddle in the affairs of the Free Peoples," Manwë said. His smile, just like Alice's, didn't vanish from his face. It was refreshing to look upon. The King of the Vala looked too weary and burdened as of late. "If you do well, they will sing your praises. If you bring worse tidings, they will-"

"-Punch you in the face?" Oromë asked.

"Yes," Manwë said.

"Well, at least I am doing something." Oromë said, his voice still light, genuinely merry.

Manwë sighed and sat down on a nearby bench. He rested his hand over his knees and bent his head low.

"I am tired, Oromë." Manwë said. "I need to rest."

"Yes," Oromë said softly, sitting beside the King and leaning back his head. "So am I, Manwë. So am I."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Some of you are asking whether I am doing the George R.R. Martin thing... well, I haven't read his books or seen his series but I can tell you this story will be clean, but he is famous for killing off the characters you love, so... he he he. *evil grin*

Oh and by the way, Rebecca Shaw is Captain Shaw in the first instalment of these series, Tempest: Modern Age. She is 'T KILL ME!

 **Replies to Guests:**

Guest: Well, I can tell you they have important roles. :) I am so happy to hear you love them! Enjoy!


	6. Miranda

**Chapter 5**

 _I don't know which life is easier; the life of a common foot soldier, who blissfully rides out to battle without knowing the politics behind the war, or the life of a commander, who has the privilege of knowing. Either way, the meeting between all the kings throughout the Ages wasn't one I was prepared for._

 _The meeting was overwhelming, since you see all these faces you knew were dead. The line of Rohirric kings, for example, bore such resemblance with me that only difference between me and them was my dyed hair. I don't bear so much resemblance with Amrothos, even._

 _Thranduil held himself remarkably well in the sense that if I was in his place, I'd gnaw my knuckles raw with the amount of burden. But he was well prepared and managed to supply all the refugees that came from the ships. The refugees themselves were capable of carrying their own weight and they hunted on their own._

Thranduil glimpsed out of a passing window as he hurried down the winding stairs that lined his halls. The stars were lesser than before. They learned to measure time according to the number of stars present on the pitch black sky. The lesser the stars, the early in the 'morning' it was.

He dressed quickly in the morning, leaving Arodien in the care of his mother. They already had plans for the newcomers, though he didn't stay to listen. He hoped his mother kept Arodien from exhausting herself.

He skipped down the last few steps at a speed that made passing Elves gape at him until his feet met the stone floor of the ground level. The songs of hawks filled the air, over the steady trickling of streams. He stopped when one of the hawks flew over him. Thranduil shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it numerous times over his right hand and wrist until his hand vanished underneath the cloth. He raised his hand high and invited the hawk. It flew twice over Thranduil's head before landing on his cloak-covered hand. It was female, with the body slim and tail feather slightly plumed than its male counterpart. He whistled softly. The female crooned back. Her head bobbed as she tilted her neck and rubbed her head against his arm.

He chuckled and pulled his arm closer, until she caressed his neck with the crown of her head. With one last musical chirp, she bumped her head against his neck before flying away. He watched her fly about him before disappearing to the small waterfall where the hawks laid their eggs and nursed their young.

He stayed where he was and unravelled his cloak from his hand and wrist. There were small tears through the cloak. He held it up and inwardly shook his head. The seamstresses would have his head for it if it were possible for them to scold a king. He held up the cloak high and peered through one of the slits.

An Elf stood right in front him, a bemused, slightly apprehensive smile on his face. He was dressed in light green and white clothes, his thumbs in his belt. Thranduil stared at him for a long moment, blinked and removed his cloak. If he thought the Elf would disappear, he was sorely mistaken. The shock was so terrible it left his mind utterly blank. All he could do was gape at the Elf. The Elf's smile widened.

"I am not going to fade right before your eyes, Thranduil." Thranduil blinked. His voice was softer than he remembered… but what he remembered was long forgotten. One of his hands went through his pure silver hair.

"Beleg," Thranduil whispered. Beleg's grin grew.

"I knew you would remember." Beleg said. Before Thranduil said anything, Beleg reached for him and pulled him close. Stunned, Thranduil needed a minute before he responded to Beleg's embrace; still alive, still free. The last he saw of Beleg was only his vanishing back at daybreak, and the famous archer didn't so much as said goodbye. They were close, after taking numerous patrols across the borders.

"You're alive." Thranduil said to Beleg when he pulled free.

"Very much so." Beleg's face was pleasant, as if he could never sneer or show some negative feeling. But then, he always saw Beleg with a smile on his face.

They sat together on a cluster of rocks on a small knoll facing the small waterfall. Water sprayed against their legs and in the beginning, there was silence between them.

"You weren't reincarnated after your death," Thranduil said. His voice broke the silence, carrying over the flowing water.

"No," Beleg agreed. "I wasn't. I asked them not to."

Thranduil whirled his head around so sharply his neck cricked. He winced and he massaged his neck. Beleg nodded.

"I was given the choice to leave the halls but I didn't want to leave."

"Because of Túrin?"

" _You know me too well,"_ Beleg slipped into Sindarin easily. _"Forgive me, this language…_ English _... is too strange on my tongue."_

" _I found it the same way when I came first to Arda."_ Thranduil answered. _"And you are predictable."_

Beleg offered him a smile but he bowed his head again, his fair hair falling over his shoulders. Beleg's hands clasped his knees. Thranduil looked down at them. The archer's calluses were gone, and so were the characteristic scars of his life in the Wild. It only hardened the reality in Thranduil's mind; that the Elf was only re-embodied recently.

" _I suppose it is true."_ Beleg conceded.

Thranduil shook his head. He met Túrin, long ago when the boy came to the city. He was a sullen young child, with a characteristic frown and a pout. His features were stern, which were rumoured to be inherited from his mother. Thingol loved the boy so dearly he considered him his son. He knew Beleg felt pity for the boy at first to lose his family at such an early age, which quickly turned into a brotherly love when Túrin grew into a man.

"You were always soft-hearted for the boy." Thranduil said, returning to English. He gave a heavy sigh. "I never understood it." The esteemed archer gave a wry laugh that startled Thranduil.

"I never understood it, either." Beleg agreed with a wry laugh. "My wisdom told me to leave him to whatever confounded plans he had and to his stubbornness. But my feelings told me otherwise." Thranduil laughed in surprise and shook his head. "It's true," Beleg protested. "Tell me, Thranduil, how would you feel if your Warriors were exiled and they worked in whatever horrors they found themselves in? The same Elves you worked with, fought side by side with. The same Elves who slept around the campfire at night. You have spent just as much time serving Menegroth and her security as I have." Thranduil's smile was gone by the time he finished speaking. Thranduil knew Beleg was right, and Beleg knew it as well.

"Well, I can't deny that." Thranduil said. "You are right." For a moment he hesitated, before he asked. "Do you remember your last moments?"

"Barely," Beleg's reply came immediately. Then the archer paused and corrected himself, "I mean that I remember everything of my last moments, but it happened too fast. I remember I was trying to free Túrin from his bonds. I remember he looked up at me first in daze, then in shock and anger. He took the sword and then, I simply remember a burst of pain and then… nothing. I woke in the Halls of Mandos."

Thranduil stared at Beleg for a long moment.

"Six months," Thranduil said. Beleg looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"What?"

"Six months," Thranduil repeated. "We didn't know what happened to you, for six months." Beleg dipped his head once. "We waited for your return. We sent out scouts to find where you were. We went out into the wild to gain some hint to know what happened to you." Thranduil leaned forward and whispered in a fierce tone. "We comforted your wife after you were gone and do you have any idea _how many people missed you?"_ Thranduil didn't even realise he slipped back into his birth language until his words finished. Beleg flinched as if Thranduil delivered a physical blow.

"You know by now there is no way to judge a person until you are in their shoes." Beleg said. Thranduil leaned back and rested his palms on neighbouring stones for support. Of course, Beleg wouldn't apologize.

"I am sorry for all the trouble caused."

Thranduil nearly snorted. He forgot Beleg was softer at heart than other Ellyn he knew.

"Thranduil," Beleg's voice was a command. Thranduil looked up. "What would you have done, if this Riley was in trouble?" Thranduil's denial stuck deep in his throat. Beleg nodded knowingly. "Then you see what the choice was for me." Beleg propelled himself off his stone and rubbed his hands together. "Thranduil, if you ever find yourself in need, then you shall have my allegiance." Thranduil stood up and the two comrades hugged. Beleg smiled at the King, pressed his hand over his shoulder and left. Thranduil watched him leave until he disappeared from the corner of the corridor.

"I will be meeting many friends and foes before long, I think." Thranduil muttered to himself. He exited the lowermost level and he descended the final flight of stairs leading to the corridor opening to the entrance.

He clutched the ruined cloak in his hand as he travelled down the steps. He found a group of Ellyth hurrying past him, soon followed by Berethil.

"Where's Arodien?" Thranduil called out to Berethil. His new advisor twirled over her heel and walked a few steps backwards. She was clearly in a hurry; as prepared as his halls were, there was undoubtedly a lot of strain on the inhabitants to make place.

"She is entertaining the Men in the dining halls," Berethil said. Thranduil gestured her to go and she gratefully ran to catch up to a pack of Ellyth. Thranduil watched them leave and shook his head.

"We are indebted to our women in some way," Thranduil muttered to himself before he travelled to the dining halls. The dining halls were brightly lit, and all of them were interconnected with numerous large doors. One can easily open and close them according to how great the feasts were. He found Arodien sitting at the head of the table, dressed in very loose robes of blue and white. Numerous members of the Rohirrim sat on either side of the dining table. All of them listened to her entranced. Arodien excused herself when she saw her husband and stood to him.

"Husband," she greeted him with a quick kiss.

"Wife," Thranduil returned. "What were you talking about?"

"Stories of the Eldar," Arodien explained with a quick smile towards the Rohirrim. "They make a wonderful audience. The Rohirrim and the Hobbits are known to be the best people to tell stories to."

"Well, if we are speaking about stories, then let me tell you I met Beleg."

"Beleg?" Arodien echoed, suddenly interested. "I'd like to meet him! Where is he?" She tried to glide past him but he stopped her by gripping her wrist.

"Do I detect some hero-worshipping streak in my wife?" Thranduil teased.

"He is the best archer in history of Elves-"

"And what of your own son?" Thranduil said. Arodien laughed, shook her head but didn't reply. Instead, she looked at his crumpled cloak and raised her head. Arodien took his cloak from him and held it up to her shoulder with a wry look.

"That was one of your most formal cloaks that you have," she chided him. The cloak created folds over her swollen belly. "You are too hard on your clothes."

"I humbly apologize, wife," Thranduil replied with the same wry smile on his face. Arodien folded the cloak until it was a small layered square that she held only in one hand.

"Humph, I will have to give it to the seamstresses. We might be able to save the embroidered border."

"I will leave you to it," Thranduil obliged. He hesitated for a moment before resting his hand over Arodien's bump. "How is he?"

"He kicks, all the time," Arodien said. She looked over Thranduil's shoulder and raised her voice. "Much like some other son I bore."

"I was bored," Legolas said with an impertinent grin at his mother. "You kept falling asleep… not that I remember, of course, but yes, that is the essence of a story."

Both parents laughed. Legolas' expression sobered.

"I came to say that Miranda and Alice didn't come alone." Legolas said. Thranduil's amusement dampened slightly. Legolas wasn't finished. "They brought Langwen… Fion's wife. It seems as if Demetri held her all along." Thranduil's jaws clenched together painfully.

"How is she?" Thranduil dreaded the answer.

"She is barely alive." Legolas filled him in. "The healers say that she will recover, given time."

He bit the inner flesh of his lower lip and looked away. His mind raced. Fion's departure and the carnage left behind it were still too fresh and painful for Thranduil. It still reminded him of an entire secret he wasn't aware of. Thranduil jerked out of his speeding thoughts when he felt Arodien's small hand over his elbow.

"Would you like for me to join you?" She asked, looking worried. Thranduil drew her close and rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. The gesture was oddly comforting and he found Arodien didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned closer. There were still too many things between them, too many wounds left out in the open without healing, but the love was still there, strong and beating as ever.

"I'll be fine," Thranduil said once he broke contact. He turned his attention back to Legolas. "This is something I would like to do on my own. Does Langwen know about Fion?" Legolas shook his head.

"No, they don't. I have given strict orders that she is not to be informed about her husband until she becomes stronger."

"Good." Thranduil only said. "I should go and see her."

The infirmary was located at the higher levels, well equipped for any disaster. At the moment, it had only one trauma patient and that was Langwen.

He found her in the corner of the infirmary, with curtains guarding her privacy. Thranduil looked at the wasted Elleth before him. He barely recognised her. Her face was more skull-like than something that belonged to a healthy Elleth. Her skin was ashen and clung to her bones. She was nothing more than bones with skin covering them.

He took her bony, thin hand in his fuller, callused ones. Her eyes fluttered open at the contact and she slowly turned her head to face him. Thranduil smiled kindly at her as sleep fled from her eyes.

"Do you remember who I am?" Thranduil queried. Her lips parted and she nodded weakly.

"Thranduil, son of Oropher," she whispered. Thranduil leaned forward to hear her better.

"And what is your name?"

"Langwen," she rasped. Thranduil realised she was thirsty. He released her hand, which fell limply to her side and he reached for the covered, full glass of water resting on her bedside table. Uncovering it, he raised Langwen's head with his free hand and touched the rim of the glass with her lips. She drank in small slow sips but turned her head away in a few seconds. He didn't push her; he settled her down and returned the glass. He returned his hand on top of hers.

"What do you remember of yourself?"

Langwen's throat worked for a few moments. The bandage around it shifted enough for Thranduil to glimpse the tips of mangled scars. Thranduil leaned forward and with his free hand, he hooked one finger over the bandage and pulled it down a little. The scars continued, but they were old, layered with bruises. He released the bandage and he pulled back the bandage covering her free forearm. There were some healing burns there. The sickening feeling inside him grew until it pooled like poison in his stomach. Was there any place on her body that wasn't hurt?

"Where is Fion?"

Thranduil froze at the question and for a moment he wondered what to answer. The hesitation was all that Langwen needed. Tears began to fill her wide eyes until they made small wet tracks from the outer corners of her eyes over the temples and into her hairline. Thranduil ducked his head, too ashamed to meet her gaze any longer. Langwen's ragged sobs tore a hole deeper into Thranduil's core than he expected.

"I am sorry, Langwen," Thranduil said, stroking the outside of her hand. "I don't know where he is."

Thranduil held her hand while she wept and after she lost the precious water, he persuaded her to drink some more. After that, she fell into a deep slumber. He pulled up the blanket until it reached the Elleth till her bandaged neck. He got up from his seat and lingered for a moment by her bed.

"You'll be safe here in my halls," Thranduil whispered to Langwen. "I promise it." When he stepped outside, he found Berethil waiting for him by the doors to infirmary.

"Bring everyone of importance and fill the largest meeting hall with them. There are many things we need to speak of." Thranduil said. Berethil nodded.

They rounded up all kings and lords, queens and ladies of notable and useful ranks into the largest meeting hall Thranduil possessed. And it was an admirable feat to say they all fitted comfortably into the hall.

"Bless Amrod for planning my halls," Thranduil remarked in wonder. The meeting hall was large, with towering dual doors thrown wide open. The hall was, as Miranda fondly put it, the size of a football field, and possessed two floors besides the ground level. The first and second floors were approachable by stairs. A circular table was placed in the middle of the hall on the ground level, the centre of which was hollowed and hologram-producing device was fitted within. Thranduil and Miranda stood side by side just at the threshold of the hall, neither of them entirely willing to go inside. The place was full of people long-dead and resurrected, of heroes long-forgotten. There were Elves, Men, Dwarves and even Hobbits. The Valar were obviously welcomed, but Manwë made it clear they were present to observe, not to participate. The thought wasn't reassuring.

"Into the jaws of death we go," Miranda muttered to Thranduil. Thranduil guffawed.

"We really should leave this dark humour behind." Thranduil told her.

"But where is the fun in that?" She asked, eyes twinkling when she looked up at him. "I received word from some of my spies. They speak of a certain plane that is making its way here to the halls… carrying two certain people who might hold your interest."

"Stop speaking in riddles," Thranduil told her, reaching up with his hand and tweaking her nose. "It doesn't suit you, particularly as a descendant of Rohirrim who were, eh, are well-known for being honest." Miranda slapped his hand away.

"Túrin and his mommy are coming here with Mithrandir." Miranda clarified. Thranduil stared and then gave a long, frustrated groan.

"Wonderful," Thranduil said. Miranda opened her mouth but Thranduil continued before she spoke. "First the sons of Fëanor, then all the bloody Elves from Aman-"

"I never knew you could swear-" Miranda broke in. Thranduil uttered in English, then Sindarin and then finally in German. Miranda looked at him in surprise. "Well, that is an extensive vocabulary."

"Why don't we also invite Morgoth, and his minions to my halls and blaze it all down!" Thranduil continued as if he didn't hear Miranda.

"He is coming here in some two days." Miranda said. Thranduil froze, speechless, and then he turned and he glowered at her. Miranda grinned.

"You know, your buttons are so easily pressed." Miranda drawled.

"You're a minx."

"You know, Celeborn and Galadriel told me it was fun teasing you. I have to agree with them."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Stop smiling at me."

"Oh, don't mind me. I am just a silly little girl with a head full of wool engaged and think of the love of my life." Thranduil burst out laughing. Miranda threw him a cheeky wink.

"Go take your seat and watch the entire commotion unfold." Miranda said.

"Always a spot of sunshine on a rainy day, aren't you?"

Miranda's laughter followed him as he shouldered his way through the gathering. There were rows of chairs placed on all floors. On his way to the top, he was waylaid when a strong hand gripped his elbow. He paused and turned his head sharply towards his assailant and relaxed when he found it was Elrond.

"I hope you have a plan," Elrond murmured. "Because this place can very well turn into a civil war with all friends and enemies alike rounded at one place."

Thranduil winced.

"I hope it doesn't come to that." Thranduil replied. "I just had these halls built."

He didn't mean to be flippant, but Elrond uttered a low chuckle and released him.

"You didn't change one bit." Elrond said to him with a wide grin. Thranduil wasn't amused.

"No," he corrected. "I changed plenty."

With that, and Elrond's smile fading, Thranduil climbed the rest of the steps. As soon as he reached the top, he realised why Elrond was anxious. As high as he was off the ground, he noticed everything, and he also noticed the not-too-friendly glances shared between various people. There were all sorts of problems during various eras and various lifetimes. As such the Dwarves looked angrily towards Elu Thingol, who thwarted them out of their rightful pay when they forged him the necklace to hold the Silmaril. Tuor and his wife Idril of Gondolin, with Ecthelion passed hateful glares at Maeglin, who betrayed them to Morgoth. The Gondorians of the past whose names Thranduil didn't know looked at the Rohirrim with hostility, for the Rohirrim wanted to break free from Gondor. Some Dwarves even glared at Galadriel, or "The Elf-Witch".

Only the Hobbits looked around excitedly as if it were a party.

Thranduil lowered his head and raised his fingers up to his temples at the same time and stifled a low groan. He massaged his temples wearily. This will be a long, long meeting. Behind him, Legolas softly chortled.

"The faster we start, the swifter it will all be over." Legolas advised. Thranduil gave a grunt more befitting a common soldier than an esteemed king. Thranduil felt a clap against his shoulder and when he looked, he found Elrond stood right behind him.

"I can start the meeting," Elrond offered. Thranduil twitched his lips upwards.

"Well, you always knew how to do theatrical openings," Thranduil quipped. Elrond flashed his white teeth at him in a grin.

"I hope I don't disappoint." Elrond responded. He squeezed Thranduil's shoulder before slipping past him. Thranduil's forehead creased but his smile remained. He gestured at Elrond and stepped back for the Lord to take his place.

"Friends of the past," Elrond's pleasant voice echoed impressively throughout the hall. The murmurs and buzz of normal chatter ceased immediately. "Comrades we never met, I welcome you here to the halls of King Thranduil, here in Redwood Forest of Arda. It is a pity we meet under these unfortunate circumstances but it is said that we can find great allies at desperate times. I hope we all can find staunch allies in the dark times we have ahead. Make no mistake; we have gathered to take part in a war. All of us have fought in one renowned battle or another. All of us have taken some part in weaving the fabric of history. This, quite possibly, is the time which will change everything for us. No feat that we have accomplished in the past can fit the possibilities of heroism in the future. We gather here today, my friends, to make decisions and to form alliances and defeat the new danger before it consumes all the good we once fought so hard for."

The response for Elrond's opening speech was strong. The applause was deafening as it circled round and round the hall. Elrond stepped back with a polite dip of his head.

"I hope I passed," Elrond said lowly in Thranduil's ear before he walked off. Thranduil didn't even have the time to reply. He clapped Thranduil between his shoulder-blades before joining his sons. Thranduil peered over the banister and found Miranda looking up at him. He signalled her but before she stepped forward, Manwë came up.

"Before we proceed, I think we should hear the events as Thranduil saw them." Manwë's voice echoed throughout the hall. Thranduil's breathing hitched in surprise. There was a buzz of agreement and all heads directed towards Thranduil, clearly waiting in anticipation.

Thranduil swallowed and clenched his hands. He wasn't prepared. When they organized this, he didn't realise he too would have to speak. He felt a short nudge against his back from his son. Thranduil's feet walked on their own accord and his hands were cold and clammy when he took the banister and strode down the steps. He stopped at the circular table, and he felt the heat of all gazes on him.

His mind swarmed with numerous thoughts, and jumbled memories. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't know what to say. He took in a deep breath and turned towards the table in the centre. The black, smooth remote was moulded perfectly to fit in his palm, and its warmth soothed his cold, damp skin. Everything was there; already fed into the holograms. He only needed to assess them. He shifted for a moment, pressing the hard and unused buttons on the remote until the file he wanted came up.

"It started in Aman, when the morning songs of birds no longer comforted me, and I found peace restless…" Thranduil began.

His voice, though quiet, was clear and echoed around the hall. The dampness evaporated from his skin and he slowly settled into the rhythm of his narrative. He walked them through his life in Germany, where he took part in the World War, where he went to England, and then to America. He told him about his life as Detective and then the time when Legolas and his company came to find him. He told him about the Fellowship, Wolf, and then finally about Dawn. His voice nearly caught in his throat when he mentioned her, but it came out just as strong. When he reached to the present events, it was when Thranduil realised how much time had passed and how much had happened. His throat went dry from speaking.

For a long moment, the entire hall was as silent as tomb. Thranduil surveyed the hall and found that every person there was focused on him. Then Manwë spoke.

"If anyone has any questions? No? You may go. Legolas Greenleaf, if you may come to the centre and let us know of your story."

Legolas was readier than Thranduil and he passed Thranduil when he was descended the steps. Thranduil took his place with Berethil again, who wordlessly offered him a glass of water, its outer surface foggy. Thranduil accepted it and drank it gratefully. The cool water trickled down his throat. Legolas' narrative wasn't as long as Thranduil's but it was full of detail. Most of it was something Thranduil already knew, but some points were new. At last, he too was done. Then Miranda was called.

Thranduil's gaze involuntarily shifted to the Valar. Manwë, Tulkas, Oromë and Ulmo's gazes were fixed on Miranda, but it was Nienna who was directly looking up at him. Her sorrowful eyes met his and she inclined her head in greeting. Her offer rebounded in his mind but he shook it away. After a moment's hesitation, he responded to her in the same manner before turning his attention to Miranda.

Unfortunately, Miranda didn't even have the time to speak. There was underlying hum of distress and unease. It grew, like turbulent waters churning against closed water dams.

"Oh, good grief," Legolas muttered behind Thranduil. Berethil hummed in agreement. Thranduil shook his head and placed his fists on the banister.

Just like that, the hall erupted into a buzz of numerous conversations layering one over the other. Words in different languages were thrown from among people. Anger steamed in the air and was almost tangible. Years of grief, anguish and unresolved feelings turned the entire hall into a fighting ground. There were barely minutes before the arguments turned physical. Besides himself, Legolas, Nimdir and Berethil, only Miranda and Alice stood in the middle of the commotion

"-Curse upon the Elves for their trickeries!"

"-You Dwarves were always conceited, conspiratorial, always lusting after gems and gold-"

"-Says the ones who fought for their father's three petty gems and bloodied their hands more than anyone else in this hall!"

Thranduil sucked the inner part of his cheek as the chaos rose in volumes.

"Your ancestors broke Gondor in two by creating Rohan!"

He caught Elrond's eye from an accompanying balcony. Elrond wore a frustrated expression that mirrored his own.

"-say that again?"

"You heard me, you illiterate bastard-"

"ENOUGH!"

The argument halted into a ringing silence when the voice echoed about the massive meeting hall. All heads turned, searching for the speaker. The echoes made it sound like a male's, but the very core of that voice was prominently feminine. A single woman stood in the middle of the now open doorway. Thranduil immediately recognised her; Kate. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from excitement, and her hair was messily bound in a pony. She looked worse for wear, but she was uninjured. Glorfindel loitered behind her, wisely keeping his silence.

"You are all fools!" She hissed. The sudden drop of her voice was still clearly loud in the quiet that descended over them, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits alike. Even the Valar were silent. She stalked inside, her metal-plated boots clinking against the stone tiles. She bore down anyone who dared to make eye contact with her, even if they were Elves. At any other time, Thranduil would have found it comical, but at the moment, even he was stunned into silence. She stopped just before she reached the middle of the hall and her eyes swept over all of them.

"We are at war," she said. Her voice was much louder. "Aman is destroyed and we can do nothing to win that land over, so stop grieving for it! We have the enemy lapping at our shores. There are legions upon legions orcs waiting for us, with the worst tyrants that many of you haven't even seen." Kate's eyes scanned over the mass gathered before her. "None of you have cities or kingdoms here, much less resources to feed, clothe and equip an army and there is no way you can mount a suitable attack. And here we are squabbling between us on matters that were so long ago the majority of the world doesn't even remember it!"

"Look," Legolas murmured to Thranduil. He complied and nearly laughed aloud when he saw that most of lords, ladies and heroes actually looked abashed. He met Elrond's eyes and grinned.

"Your descendent," Thranduil mouthed to Elrond. The once-Lord of Rivendell inclined his head in agreement and he looked extremely smug. Thranduil grinned, and shook his head. Kate's cheeks were noticeably red, and her ending was less graceful than her speech. Miranda helped her leave and while no applause followed her, Thranduil knew her courage was admired.

Miranda began her own story, and threw in a bit of recent history as well for the sake of all the reborn people in the hall. Time passed swiftly than anticipated, but then, time always passed swiftly when one is immersed into making plans. They broke up for refreshments and in moments the hall emptied to join others for a feast. Thranduil lingered behind along with Legolas while Berethil excused herself to find the Queen and see to meal preparations. When he descended down the steps, he found Kate trapped between Miranda, Glorfindel and Alice, all of whom were teasing the poor woman mercilessly.

"Enough!" Miranda hissed in Kate's ear, causing the woman to flinch away.

"Stop it!" Kate wagged a finger at Miranda. The blonde woman sniggered.

"You got some nerve shrieking like a wraith at a room full of esteemed heroes, lords and veterans." Alice put in.

"I wasn't shrieking!"

"A Queen who doesn't trust herself to be in charge of a kingdom, indeed," Glorfindel said humorously. "I have met few women who are capable of putting men in their places, and fewer still who can chide Elves until they are ashamed." Kate pivoted towards Thranduil, her expression pleading for alliance.

"Well done," Thranduil said quietly. Then he smiled.

Kate smiled back, cheeks still glowing with warmth.

Their tender moment was interrupted when Thranduil looked over Kate's head towards the dual doors and found Mithon stopped short at the doorway. Thranduil gestured at him, calling him in.

"Lord Celegorm is here, with the King Ingwë." Mithon informed them.

"Where are they?" Thranduil said.

No sooner did he said this, he heard loud laughter echo through the halls and reach the doorway of the meeting hall. It followed by some colourful swearing.

"Bet laughter belongs to Ingwë and the swearing to Celegorm," Thranduil said. Mithon nodded rapidly.

"All of you handle Ingwë, and Miranda and I will handle Celegorm." Thranduil decided. "Where is Celegorm?"

Thranduil and Miranda found him in his guest room, hidden behind the large barrier for changing. Celegorm was also swearing loudly.

"What happened?" Thranduil called over the barrier. There was another curse. A pair of pants flew over the top of the barrier, and crashed against his arm before falling on the ground.

"Ingwë's wife made me a pair of pants to replace the ones I was already wearing and made the crotch one size smaller-"

"She only altered the pants according to what she expected," Thranduil couldn't resist putting in. Kate covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Miranda and Alice were openly grinning. Celegorm gave him a look so black it was a wonder Thranduil didn't die on the spot.

"Too clever?" Thranduil asked quietly. He spoke only to break the tense silence that stretched out between them. Celegorm said nothing. Neither of them broke their eye contact. Then Celegorm grinned.

"Very clever," Celegorm said. "I think I like you for it."

Thranduil flashed him a white grin. Celegorm went towards the mirror and quickly readied himself.

"I will find my brothers, and then I will find my arse of a brother who goes by the name of Curufin."

"I won't keep you from a tearful reunion." Thranduil said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Celegorm caught the tone and he looked at him with a much friendlier grin.

"Oh, we sons of Fëanor always have tearful reunions." Celegorm answered quirkily. He flicked two fingers towards him as he passed him. "I'll see you later."

When the door clicked behind Celegorm, Miranda gave a loud guffaw.

"I was half-afraid he was serious and that I'd have to wipe your remains off the ground." Miranda joked. Thranduil grinned.

"Please," Thranduil said. He gestured at the Ring of Power adorning his finger. "It would be a battle Celegorm would lose."

"Humph! Come on; the meal's ending in fifteen minutes and then we are back in the hall… try not to offend someone else' masculinity?"

"I make no promises," Thranduil quipped. Miranda smirked and waited by the door and passed him an extravagant bow as he walked by. He only raised a single brow at her and mouthed 'cheeky'. Miranda grinned.

"Thranduil?"

The new voice halted Thranduil in his tracks. It was strong, but not so much that it hurt the ears and there was the unmistakeable hint of pride in it. Not the kind that was destructive, no, but the kind that told other the owner of it was comfortable with its appearance and skill and capable of turning things in his or her favour. In this case, it belonged to a female. And it was very, very familiar.

He pivoted on his heel slowly and raised his head to the speaker.

The Elleth who stood before him possessed light brown hair, strong facial features that oddly enough, suited her. As Ellyth went, she was nothing extraordinary, except for her bright green eyes and charming smile, both of which she knew how to use in her advantage. He remembered her, among her other friends, were a talk between soldiers but not many dared to approach them. They were nobles, after all.

"Lady Faeldes," Thranduil greeted. His throat was drier than it was seconds earlier. At the sound of her name, Faeldes' smile broke into a wide and broad one. She took one step and then another until she stood directly in front of him.

"You have changed, my lord, but still as handsome as ever," she nearly crooned. Her hand raised and she caressed his jawline. Thranduil twitched and shied away from her touch instinctively. Faeldes' smile disappeared and she withdrew her hand as if his skin burned her.

"You have bonded." The Elleth's voice was flat, her green eyes glittering with…. Hurt? Anger? Grief? "I saw someone, and he looked nearly like you. I didn't dare believe- I didn't think-"

Understanding dawned Thranduil. She loved him. Perhaps she loved him still.

"Forgive me," Thranduil whispered. She must've heard it, because she stopped and looked back. Faeldes had a small sorrowful smile.

"You were always clueless. Even when I, or any other girl, gave hints. You never realised."

"I didn't know."

"Yes, I know. And now it is too late. Perhaps I should have been more straightforward."

"Faeldes, I-"Thranduil faltered. "I am not the Elf you once knew. My life would have been too difficult and too burdensome to share with you." Faeldes raised her eyebrows momentarily and nodded slowly.

"Perhaps, but one can never be too sure." Already the noblewoman was erecting walls between them. Thranduil realised he hurt her worse than he imagined.

"Faeldes-"

"What is done is done." Faeldes' voice was bitter. "Nothing can change that." Thranduil tried to speak to her but she stopped him. "I should go."

Thranduil didn't argue further. He watched the unmarried Elleth leave and after she left, he realised the entire incident happened in company. Miranda was still with him.

"You knew her?" Miranda asked softly.

But Thranduil shook his head.

"It was a long time ago."

* * *

After they ate, Thranduil led a group of them to a smaller council room. It was circular with a flat ceiling and a round polished table. They gathered around it. Thranduil rolled out a map and held it down by weights on the four corners. Miranda peered over the king's outspread arm, his fist resting on the table. It was map of UK, with only red markers placed on various areas. He tapped at one, the closest to Redwood.

"Military factory," Thranduil declared. "Intelligence says that the production of arms was halted after London was destroyed. The government officials resided there and with them gone, UK is in shambles."

"What of the army?" Maedhros asked. He stood opposite to Thranduil, leaning over the table with palms pressed against the surface.

"Scattered but not under any known leadership." Thranduil answered. He gestured at another red marker. It was different from the previous one, Miranda saw. The red markers were either squares or circles; the military factories were circles. "That's the closest known military base and as far as our scouts spoke to us, it's likely to be common infantry."

"Is it abandoned?" Miranda queried. All heads turned towards her.

"We can't tell." Thranduil said. "From the outside, it looks abandoned, but the scouts used screens and found bodies within the bunkers. But we don't know if they are… alive."

"They didn't trace any movements?" Legolas put in.

"No," Thranduil shook his head. "They didn't. I would like to mount an investigation and check into the base. We tried communicating but there was no answer. So we only have one choice left for us."

There was a knock on the door and Legolas' son entered the room.

"There is a commotion at the entrance of the halls," Nimdir strode in. Thranduil released a heavy sigh and his head bowed, sinking down to his chest. Then he looked up with annoyance.

"There is no peace and quiet over here," Thranduil breathed, "Dismissed. We will talk later."

Commotion was a mild word. The better word was chaos. The men of Rohan milled about the entrance, their golden-hair gleaming in the Noldorin lanterns. Thranduil craned his neck, trying to look into its heart but the towering men blocked his view. Thranduil breathed in and gave a sigh, clasped his robes together in his fists and travelled down the steps.

The sounds were growing louder and Thranduil began to shove through the crowd. Legolas followed him close behind. Thranduil stopped just short of the first circle of men, because he managed to see the heart of the problem between the shoulders of two men. A man grovelled over the smooth floor of Thranduil's halls. He was dressed poorly, in ragged garments, unlike the bright unblemished white clothes the other people were reincarnated in. His hair was honey-golden, much darker than the usual colour of Rohirrim. Thranduil went through all notorious names he once knew about the Rohirrim that fit the mounting hatred these men felt for him.

"Wormtongue!" Legolas cried behind him. Thranduil looked up at the heavens and sighed. Now he was certain fate was playing jokes on him.

Grima remained on his knees. But he leaned forward until his palms pressed against the ground.

"I will beg if I must," the man whispered. "Please. I know things and I can be of some service if you wish it-"

"Snake," Éomer hissed. Grima flinched and his head bent lower. For a moment, Thranduil thought Grima did resemble a snake as his body shifted over the tiles. "Do not listen to him. He has done enough to our family and has given grief to his own people!"

"And what exactly do you wish me to do about him?" Thranduil said.

"Throw him into the dungeons so that he brings no one harm, at least until the battle is won!" Éomer said. Grima looked distressful and he lurched forward on stumbling feet until he gripped Théoden's shirt.

"Please, don't! I have atoned for my sins. I even bring you the plans of the enemy." Grima did what he promised; he begged.

"Your feelings are clouding your judgment," Thranduil informed Éomer. "I see no reason to harm a man who already paid for his mistakes. And I will certainly not kick him out my halls and I will not place him in my dungeons when he did nothing to warrant either of them."

"I once promised you redemption and a home in Meduseld," Théoden spoke to Grima. The man looked up and for a moment Thranduil pitied him. There were cuts on Grima's hands and cheeks. He was dirty, and it was possible Grima did everything in his power to reach his halls. Grima looked up at his king with hope. Théoden's next words quenched it. "But you turned away from it. The men now no longer welcome you as one of them. For my part, I forgave you long ago. But if you join us, you do it in the danger of your own safety." Grima, still on his hands and knees, lowered his head until it hung low between his shoulders.

"I will take him."

The gentle, masculine voice tore through the silence.

"I will take him," Finrod said softly. Everyone turned their heads towards the Elf. The noble lord stood straight, his hands clasped behind him and his weight rested lightly on his heels like that of a seasoned warrior. It was strange to find his voice was so gentle, even if he was bodily built to be lean and tall.

"My nephew is right," Théoden warned. "This man has caused a great deal of mischief on my lands when I was king. He is not to be underestimated."

Finrod raised a single eyebrow, and his expression didn't change. That was when they noticed the graceful, cat-like power laced in his form. His eyes were clear and very observant. He was not the kind to be easily fooled.

"I am sure he will think twice before creating mischief for an Elven lord." Finrod said. He tilted his head to a side and turned his eyes to Grima. "Won't you, son of Man?"

Thranduil looked at Grima and found that the man trembled where he knelt. His head was still bowed, but when he finally dared to look up, he nearly flinched when he met Finrod's eyes. But Thranduil was impressed that the man held the Elf's gaze squarely. Perhaps the Void helped him grow some spine, after all.

"Good, that's settled-"Thranduil began.

"Grandfather!"

Thranduil raised his head and caught Nimdir hurrying towards him.

"There's another commotion down the hall." His grandson said.

Thranduil gave a loud, exasperated groan.

"Oh for the love of Valar," He pled. Legolas laughed heartedly at that.

More than half of the halls were occupied by people Thranduil never even met. This meant he had to make acquaintances, gain alliances. And he knew there will be some he would greatly dislike. But from the way one fight sparked after the next, Thranduil felt he was about to spend more time reconciling unresolved stories.

"Who is this time?" Thranduil asked Nimdir.

"Maeglin and Tuor," Nimdir answered. Thranduil inwardly shook his head.

"I just might begin handing everyone weapons and let them commit a bloodbath."

There was no shoving and pulling here. Instead, Maeglin stood alone with his back pressed against the wall while the lords of Gondolin surrounded him from all sides. He was different from most Elves. His skin was alabaster white, and his hair was jet black. The contrast was off-putting, but the Noldorin features he possessed gave him this refined handsomeness. At the moment, he looked sullen. His body was tense as if ready for a fight. The lords surrounding him were led by Tuor. The other lords were the leaders of their houses. Tuor was the only man among them, but he was still built like a hardened soldier. Hostility crackled between Maeglin and the rest of the lords like electricity. Maeglin wasn't the kind to back down, and then again, the confounded House of Finwë refused to back away either.

"Remember this, Maeglin," Tuor threatened. "You are no longer welcome to accompany our people even if you share the blood of Noldorin."

"Then I will welcome Maeglin to my halls," Thranduil announced. His voice carried to the group. Tuor was caught off-guard and he turned about, searching for the speaker. He looked at Thranduil with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

"He is a traitor," Tuor's voice was dangerously low. He waved an accusing hand towards Maeglin, who, to Thranduil's bemusement only raised his chin. "He gave way the location of Gondolin. His betrayal caused us the deaths of children, Ellyth- and innocent civilians for the sake of being with my wife."

Idril's lips pursed, but Thranduil's eyes were focused on Maeglin, and he noticed how Maeglin's muscle in his jaw jumped almost unperceptively.

"If you have something against me," Thranduil interrupted. "Then by all means, face me like a warrior should." Thranduil took a decisive step forward under there was barely a hand's breath between the Elf and Man. Tuor's jaw worked at frighteningly slow pace, the muscle in his jaw jumping out as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Thranduil's face remained impassive, but his eyes were challenging. At last, Tuor looked away. "Good," Thranduil crooned. He turned his attention to the rest of the household. "Anyone else here who would like to voice their protests? Get it out of their systems?"

Silence reigned.

"Excellent," Thranduil said. "Then we can get back to other business." Tuor, tight-lipped, turned on his heel and joined his wife. Idril gave him a look that told him she wasn't happy either. Thranduil didn't particularly care. His choices, his woes, and his people were his own to fuss over.

Further back, where the sons of Fëanor stood in a straight line, shoulder to shoulder, Thranduil found that all of the sons were smiling grimly at him. It was clearly meant to be a smile of approval, but Thranduil wasn't sure if he was happy gaining the approval of former kinslayers.

The excitement was over and they returned to the meeting hall. Grima stood by Finrod, the only man among the sea of Elves. Fingolfin was called to begin, who inclined his head and stepped forward. He began speaking but Thranduil paid him no attention. Instead, he turned to Maeglin, who crept up to his side earlier when his attention was towards Maedhros and his brothers.

"I hope I don't regret keeping you," Thranduil said amiably, folding his arms over his chest. Maeglin didn't turn his head, but his pale grey eyes, characteristic to Noldor, met his darker grey ones beneath his eyelids. The tips of Maeglin's lips curled slightly upwards. It was then Thranduil realised the full extent of danger packed within Maeglin's form; Maeglin possessed dark beauty, but matched it with deadly power that oozed off of him.

"Only time will tell… Sire," Maeglin drawled. It was the first time he heard Maeglin speak. His voice was low, caressing and with a flow like silk. No wonder people found it difficult to trust him. Thranduil smiled pleasantly, uncrossed his arms and laid a hand on his bicep in an apparent gesture of goodwill. But the grip slowly tightened into a band of steel and Maeglin let out a hiss between his teeth from the pain.

"If you bring ruin and death to my halls," Thranduil said in a measured low voice, muffled from the conversation between Fingolfin and others, "I will burn your skin and hang you unclothed from a spear for the world to see what happens to those who terrorise my people."

All signs of remaining smirk disappeared from Maeglin's face. He didn't shy away or wrestle from his grip and Thranduil didn't expect him to. He released him finally and Maeglin took in a steadying breath. Thranduil didn't know if he was trying to control his temper, or his unease, but he honestly didn't possess the time to care. He turned his attention back to Fingolfin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maeglin was focused on him. Then the traitor's lips slowly curled upwards and Thranduil was uneasy when he saw his smile.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Here it is. I completely apologise. This was just sitting there, and I forgot to put it up.

Do leave a review! :)

Susanne- Thank you for your kind words! I hope I do get to see the drawing one day! :)


	7. Elrond

**Chapter 6**

 _Before my very eyes everyone was changing. I never thought it possible, to see people change so drastically. Dagor Dagorath brought out the best and the worst in everyone I knew._

 _Things have been chaotic, and that is to be accepted. Everyone from the past has come to life, from the bloodthirsty criminals to the respectable leaders. But we can only manage disorder for so long. If we are caught at unawares during this time, we will all perish._

 _Thranduil never ceases to amaze me. He does not realise how much he is capable of. He never liked kingship, but the role suits him, just as peace making does whenever old feuds and forgotten wounds are brought up anew._

 _One thing we need to learn, however, is to cast aside our differences. Allies are often found in places we do not normally look._

 _Needless to say, strength is often found in most unexpected places._

* * *

Arodien jumped when she felt an especially hard kick against her belly.

"You are uneasy, little one," she murmured, resting on hand over her unborn son. He kicked against her palm again. Sighing, she slowly rose from her chair. The bustling in the kitchens continued but one of the cooks noticed and hurried to her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" She asked worriedly. Arodien smiled in assurance.

"I am." She told her. "I just need to walk a bit. Continue with your work. I will not keep you." When she dismissed the cook, she went to the door as carefully as possible without coming into anyone's way.

It was soothingly cold outside of the kitchens within her husband's halls. She rubbed her belly in small circles until her child settled. She reached the far side, where the waist-high fence protected everyone from the sheer drop below. She stood there for a while, watching the activity. She never witnessed her husband's halls so full of people. Even in the Second Age, before the tragic events of Dagorlad took place, Thranduil's Halls were never full. But then, these halls were larger than the one before it.

"You are close to birthing."

The gentle feminine voice filled her mind with images of warm soil, a fresh breeze and a forest of trees with boughs heavy with leaves. She looked over her shoulder.

Yavanna stood behind her, her fingers delicately laced together in front of her.

"Kementári," she greeted the woman. Yavanna was beautiful in a different sense. Her skin was earthy brown, and her hair was dark. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and they too were brown flecked with caramel. There was softness in her face and figure, almost matronly. As long as Arodien had known, she always wore green and gold robes. She smiled gently at Arodien and walked to her side. Yavanna's hand rested briefly and lightly over her shoulder.

"The child has grown. It will not be long now." Yavanna continued. Arodien smiled and looked down at her belly. "How do you feel?"

"As well as I can be," Arodien said. Then she laughed. "I know it will not be long but it feels like eternity." She rubbed her hand on his belly. Her unborn child kicked in answer. "He is larger, larger even than Legolas."

Yavanna smiled in amusement and silently gestured Arodien to follow. Arodien complied, falling in step with Yavanna.

"Still no sign of Varda?" She asked. Yavanna shook her head.

"None," she replied. "We know she left Aman before we did. She fled both fire and foe. I fear that she grieves alone in the wilderness. But the new-born stars appear, so I think she wants the Free People to carry on with hope."

"They have indeed been a source of hope," Arodien agreed. "In these dark times, one can do with all forms of light."

"Indeed," Yavanna agreed. She nodded her head in a particular direction. "And when hands fall short, you cannot decide to have your pick of them."

Arodien turned her attention to where Yavanna discreetly indicated. An Elf loitered by the tree. His skin was pure white and his black hair was sharp contrast. The rest of his features were fine. Arodien was grateful that she did not catch his eyes. She glimpsed them once and found them too bright and sharp to hold for too long.

"Maeglin has proven a traitor before. Why must he be trusted?" Arodien asked Yavanna, feeling sceptical.

Yavanna only smiled, giving away nothing. She tilted her head slightly, indicating the pathway leading down to other Halls.

"Come," Yavanna invited. "Walk with me."

"I-" Arodien began but the Valie did not pause for her objection. Arodien watched her trailing form and took after her.

"Have you ever known love?"

"Of course!" Arodien placed the hand over her swollen belly, the hand that also bore her marriage ring. Yavanna smiled.

"So you did." Yavanna murmured. "Maeglin, however, is different. From a young age, he knew the relationship between his mother and father severely lacked himself, though he did not know what. His mother was killed by his father and his father was killed by his uncle. He saw violence and fire. It was when he made Idril that he knew he missed love. With love comes a place to belong, a place where he would be loyal. But Maeglin's love was unrequited and... Well, people do strange things for love." Yavanna stopped. She looked at Arodien. "He regrets it, even if he does not show it. Trust him, child. Maybe he has become different as well." Arodien, immersed in thought, said nothing.

"You are hurting."

Arodien glanced at her, startled.

"I do not mind it. The child is in good health and that is all that matters to me."

"I do not speak of the child." Yavanna corrected. She reached forward and gently pushed away Arodien's hair over her shoulders until it fell in a sheet over her back. She placed her finger on her chest lightly. "I speak of your heart." Arodien fell silent. Yavanna smiled like a mother with her daughter. "You are grieving." Arodien stepped back uncomfortably.

"I am fine," Arodien said.

"You do not believe that. I am a Vala, child. There is no need to act like a queen before me." Yavanna stood patiently, waiting for her answer.

"Thranduil does not trust me." Arodien said at last. "And he has become distant. This will not help me come any closer to him."

"You are wrong. You are at odds with your husband and the relationship between you has changed because of it. He never pulled you into matters of kingship because you were never there when he inherited the crown. From the beginning, he learned to handle all affairs himself, sometimes trusting close friends and relatives with the matters but not always. He had no one to confide his true fears or worries. And now he has you. But he never thought you were just as independent. While he played the role of a detective, you led a group of your people as a ruler should. He never realised how responsible you are and have become."

Before Arodien managed her composure, sobs broke through. Yavanna gathered her in her arms and cradled her there. She hummed softly and murmured soothing words into Arodien's ear.

It had been many years since Arodien was held in such a motherly embrace and not have been the mother holding her child. Yavanna's fingers stroked soothingly through her hair until her sobs quietened. Arodien pulled away, rubbing the tears that still clung to her lashes. Her heart was now much lighter.

"Do not blame him for not telling you how he feels." Yavanna advised her. "He is burdened with responsibility."

"I know. I think we have both changed so much that we lost what we have." Arodien said sadly, hugging herself by pressing her thumbs into her opposite elbows.

"I would rather say that you have both matured. Do not mistake that for anything else." Yavanna corrected. "But there is another thing I must speak with you. My powers are greatly diminishing," She looked down over the fence, hands resting lightly on the banister. Arodien followed her gaze. The other Valar were gathered at the lowermost level. "Morgoth grows stronger when we grow weak. It is as decreed. But we must rest so that our powers are replenished."

"Rest?" Arodien repeated, confused.

"Aye, rest. We will go to where no living or departed being would know our whereabouts, where we would be safe while we are vulnerable. There we will sleep all of us together until Dagor Dagorath begins."

"Is it truly necessary?" Arodien asked. She thought about the resurrected and the growing danger. "There is so much to be done."

"There is little the Valar can do, child," Yavanna said. "We need our time to heal; otherwise we will be useless for everyone. If we go now, then we will gain enough strength to fight in the Battle of Battles."

"What about Elbereth?"

"Varda will come, when it is time. None can locate her now. The Eagles that Manwë sends to find her only search in vain. She does not wish to come. That is her decision."

"And what of her powers? Won't she grow weak as well?"

Yavanna looked up at the ceiling of the Halls, where the sky would have been.

"She will. But at the moment, I think she will be fine on her own." Yavanna smiled. Arodien failed to guess why. "I will see you again, when it is time for me to leave. Stay firm, my dear." With a wave of her hand in farewell, she left Arodien to her thoughts.

She did not find Maeglin where she saw him last. A few queries led her to the last level, where Dawn's statue was erected. Maeglin sat on a bench in front of it. He was hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs. He seemed contemplative but as she drew nearer, she noticed something else.

He looked... lost.

She stopped a few steps away from him and clasped her hands before her enlarged belly.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? One would think the statue is real."

He started as soon as she spoke and straightened his spine before looking at her quizzically. Arodien tried to relax as she met his gaze. It was too cold, too sharp, like a sword shredding her clothes and skin away and leaving her raw with her fëa.

"You must be Thranduil's wife, Arodien." Maeglin's voice was surprisingly deep and cultured.

"Indeed," Arodien said with a nod. "May I join you?"

Maeglin nodded and Arodien sat beside him, maintaining a polite distance from him. The silence was stretched thin between them.

"Her name was Dawn. She was the daughter of a Man he once knew. The Enemy captured and abused her. She died soon after he rescued her."

Maeglin said nothing. Arodien turned and looked at him. The Elf betrayed his emotion with a swallow. He may be good in controlling his emotions, but he was not cold-hearted.

"I have a theory." Arodien said. Maeglin looked at her with a questioning glance. "I have a theory about you." Maeglin gave a low chuckle, genuinely amused. "I think you can be loyal, if you put your heart to it. And that I may find use for you, if you wish it."

Maeglin inclined his head as he looked at her quizzically. Silky black strands fell forward from behind his ear. It softened the grim lines of his lips. Then his mouth curled into a small smile. It was not a pleasant one.

"You must be desperate," he drawled in a low, caressing tone. "If you are serious, then I suggest you look upon others, my lady. There are many Elves who are more loyal than I. And if you jest, then I call it in poor taste. Leave me be." He looked away, expecting her to be easily dismissed. But Arodien only stared at him with renewed steely eyes.

"You reside in my Halls, and you are under my husband's protection. You are not the one here to give me orders." Arodien matched his tone with a cold, commanding one of her own. Maeglin's head whipped around as he looked at her, surprise evident in his eyes. "If I wanted another Elf, I would have asked that person and not you. And I do not make jest of matters that result in life and death. You will do well to remember the same." Arodien lowered her head. "Now, would you give me your aid or not?" Maeglin's forehead creased, neat horizontal lines appearing above his eyes.

"You truly ask for my help?" Maeglin inquired. Arodien nodded.

"But only on one condition," she told him. Maeglin looked surprised but he gestured with one hand for her to continue.

"Cast aside that charade of self-assurance and pride. I despise anyone who assumes to be more than he really is."

Maeglin ducked his head and Arodien saw from his expression that she humbled him.

"As you wish," Maeglin murmured.

"Good. I will speak to you soon. There is much we should discuss." He nodded once more and she turned and walks away.

As she did, Arodien sighed and rubbed her temples wearily. She promised her husband she would not take action without his leave. She lost his trust when it came to her queenly duties. It will be hard to regain them but there was little she could do, except wait and hope for the best.

oOo

It was cold.

Thranduil shivered and pulled up the collar of his jacket. He preferred modern outfits than the robes; they were easier to move around in, and Thranduil was addicted to their comfort and style.

A wide plain stretched out before him. He stood with a few others at the very edge of his forest. It was not his idea. Thranduil felt he had better things to do than obey Celegorm's cryptic demands, but the Noldo was damned persuasive.

"Celegorm, there are many things I do not like about you. So you should know I am finding it hard to trust you," Thranduil said. The pale Elf raised his eyebrows critically and looked over Thranduil's shoulder at the two groups of guards hidden amongst the trees.

"I can see that," he said. Sarcasm dripped from Celegorm's words.

"I agree with him," Elrond added. Celegorm appraised him in a single glance, sniffed disdainfully and turned away.

"Maedhros, Maglor, control your mongrel," Celegorm told his brothers. Elrond's face darkened and he reached for his sword.

"Mongrel?" Elrond demanded. Thranduil sighed wearily and grabbed his friend's elbow before he pulled his sword free from his sheath.

"I just love it when Elves across the Ages come together." Thranduil muttered, sarcastic. "There is no end of excitement. Calm down. Celegorm is an unrefined brute with disappointing lack of etiquettes. Restrain yourself. Control your instincts." Thranduil looked at Maedhros and Maglor and was relieved to see them both glaring at Celegorm. "If you want our alliance to work, control him." Thranduil pointed at Celegorm. Elrond shook Thranduil's hand away and threw him a dark look.

"I am going to punch him when you are not looking." Elrond muttered. Thranduil chuckled.

"Trust me. You will have plenty of time for that." He quipped dryly. Then he raised his voice as he addressed Celegorm. "Why are we here, Celegorm? Why the secrecy?"

"Patience is a virtue," Celegorm drawled. "All will be revealed in short time."

"Although I might help you when you decided to punch him." Thranduil muttered in Elrond's ear. The half-Elf laughed.

"I heard that," Celegorm said, crossed.

You can't blame them," Maedhros said to his brother. "You tend to get on people's nerves." Elrond and Thranduil both hid their smiles. Ingwë laughed outright. Celegorm muttered something unintelligible and fell silent.

Thranduil waited, growing impatient as each minute ticked by. At last, he turned to Celegorm.

"I do not know what you would like me to see," Thranduil announced. "But I have had enough of these games. I left behind scores of reincarnated Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits and who knows what they have done to my Halls in my absence. Now, if you will excuse me-"

The ground shook. The wind picked up, bending the trees with its force.

"Dragons!" Thranduil shouted. "To arms! Back to the stronghold!"

"Don't!" Celegorm cried, grabbing Thranduil by the arm and yanking him back. Thranduil looked at him in surprise and anger.

"You are on my lands, Noldo," Thranduil said. "You obey me."

"They are not hostile." Celegorm insisted, tightening his grip until it grew painful. "You must listen to what they have to say!"

"You invited those creatures here?" Thranduil demanded. "Without my permission?"

"You would not have listened to me if I asked!"

"I say we shoot them out the sky." Elrond said, readying a heavy machine in his hands.

"Nay!" Ingwë grabbed Elrond's machine and pulled until the barrel pointed downward. He turned and met Thranduil's eyes fearlessly. "I knew of Celegorm's plans and I support him. I vouch for the dragon coming here. All he wants for you is to listen without causing him any harm." Thranduil tightened his hands into fists, his marriage ring and his Ring of Power both digging into his palms.

"You ask for an alliance and yet you tell me nothing." Thranduil hissed. A roar blast through the air. "And here you expect me to place my trust in beings that have killed many of us in the past."

"It is not a risk we are asking of you to make lightly," Ingwë said. "But it must be done."

"Thranduil?" Elrond asked. Thranduil looked at him and the soldiers, all of whom were waiting for his orders.

"Stand down." Thranduil said bitterly. "We are outnumbered and unfit for fighting a dragon or two anyway."

When they finally saw their new uninvited guest, it turned out to be one dragon that was all too familiar.

Smaug landed before them, his dark and heavy body supported by massive legs. His barbed tail swished lazily , nearly missing one of Thranduil's soldiers by an inch. Smaug focused one gigantic eye at Thranduil and bared his teeth.

"Elven King," Smaug rumbled. "I did not expect an audience."

"Believe me. You were not given one." Thranduil threw a sidelong glare at Celegorm. Smaug's eye followed his gaze and his entire body rippled with deep-throated laughter.

"He is cunning," Smaug said in approval. "I would have mistaken him for a dragon if it were not for his sense of morality."

"I never realised Celegorm had a sense of morality." Thranduil managed through gritted teeth. Húro's power seeped into him, charging him. He wondered briefly if he could kill a dragon with its power. He could try, but he had no idea how successful he would be. Celegorm, however, lost his annoying smile and seemed tense.

"Neither of you are here to trade insults about me." Celegorm said tersely. "Smaug, speak your piece and be done with it." Smaug looked at Celegorm and his eye blinked lazily.

"I am a dragon. It is in my nature to play before I hunt." He snarled, forcing everyone to see his sharp teeth. Then his mouth morphed into something that looked like a grimacing grin. "But I will speak. I am here to offer an alliance." Thranduil blinked.

"An alliance?" Elrond said, surprised. "Did he just say an alliance?"

"You're daft," Thranduil said. "Or you lost your intelligence when you were reborn."

The insult had the desired effect. Smaug opened his jaws wide open and roared in fury. He cut off his roar with a sharp snap of his jaws.

"You should speak carefully, Elven King," Smaug hissed through his teeth. "Your life will be short if you leave your tongue wagging." Thranduil only curled his lip at him.

"My life is always on a gamble. That does not worry me." Thranduil said. Celegorm sighed wearily.

"Thranduil, just listen to him." Celegorm advised. Thranduil ignored him.

"Why do you want an alliance?" Thranduil said loudly over Celegorm's faltering voice. "You killed many Elves, Dwarves and Men. You never cared for another life."

"The Enemy as you call my creator, cares nothing for me and my brethren. To him, we are only creatures used in place of catapults. The few of dragons who follow me no longer wish to be a pawn in someone's game."

"And how do I know that you will not betray us?" Thranduil questioned, folding his arms over his chest. Smaug growled in warning, his tail twitching in irritation.

"A dragon is no deceiver. If I give you my word, then I will not break it."

"No," Thranduil shook his head. "Dragons are still untrustworthy. If you have war fell creatures like yourself, then you will fight them on your own."

He expected another burst of rage, but Smaug only smiled and gave low rumble of amusement.

"We will meet again." Smaug drawled. "When you realise you need our help."

Thranduil began a retort but as soon as he began, Smaug unfurled his wings and leaped up into the air. The force of the wind was enough to make them stagger. Thranduil watched as Smaug flew higher.

"That went well," Celegorm remarked mildly.

As soon as Smaug was out of sight Thranduil turned on his heel and slammed his fist into Ingwë's face. The Elf reeled, clutching his jaw. Thranduil turned again and gripped Celegorm's elbow in his fist. The Elf winced but he met his gaze squarely.

"Do that again," Thranduil said, dangerously quiet, "endanger my people again and I will personally feed you to the hounds. I need to blood them anyway. You will make a fine meal." He released him and went to their transport in long, angry strides. He heard quick crunches of feet stepping on soil and found Elrond by his side.

Elrond was grinning.

"Control yourself, eh?" Elrond repeated his advice with eyes twinkling in mirth. "Don't give in to instincts?" Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"Oh, shut up."

The ride back was uneventful and quiet but Thranduil's mind was buzzing. If he had his way, Thranduil would never trust a dragon. They were suspicious creatures, born out of fire and power by Morgoth to serve like catapults. They were nothing more than weapons. And yet Celegorm treated those dark beings like natural creatures of prey like lions and eagles.

When they reached the stronghold, Thranduil dismounted and left without turning back his head. He marched through the open doorway, greeting the throng of people with a tip of his head. Once again, he missed Thorontur. He was the amiable of the two, the more dependable.

He reached the first level of the Halls, and came face to face with his wife.

"Who is she?" She asked in a way of greeting. She spoke gently, without a hint of anger. Thranduil stared at her puzzled, before following her gaze until it rested on- Thranduil sighed.

"One of the nobles from Doriath," Thranduil explained.

"Were you... close?"

"Truthfully, I never noticed any eligible lady." Thranduil smiled down at his wife. "Back then, the only love of my life was the forest." Arodien did not smile.

"Would you have married her, given the chance?" She asked softly. Thranduil studied his wife for a long minute. Arodien never had any competition for his affection. She was the only one at the time bold enough to step forward. She probably never realised that he was sought after in Doriath, as a young handsome Elf who was a distant kin of Thingol.

"I never dwell on probabilities." He answered. "It ruins the present. Besides," Thranduil slipped his fingers under her chin, forcing her face up. "I have found my wife and am more than content in this marriage."

"Even after all that has happened?"

Ah. So that was what worried Arodien. He knew Arodien was not the kind to doubt him when it came to fidelity. Then again, his wife had changed so much. He had changed so much.

"I know the state of affairs between us is less than pleasant at the moment." Thranduil admitted, stroking her cheek with a fingertip. "But you have given me no cause to regret this marriage. And I will not have you doubt that I do." Arodien sighed, seemingly relieved but that was not all.

"I must speak to you of something else." Arodien drew in a deep breath and straightened as if she was getting ready for something bitter. "I understand you no longer have confidence in my duty as a queen, but there are decisions that I wish to take. One of them concerns Maeglin." Thranduil's face turned grim but he did not try to stop her. "I would like him to accompany me. I know that in light of his past actions that it may not be the wisest decision but it is not the kind I made lightly. I feel that given time, he may contribute much to this kingdom. If he does not, then I would like to keep him close, so that I may watch him." She finished her speech and looked at him expectantly. He gave a long measuring look.

"Alright." He said at last. "Maeglin may accompany and serve you. I have many Elves under my own command, those that I can trust and I have no room for more. But Armes," he leaned forward, his face solemn, "there is a reason why many dislike him. Maeglin is like a predator, resting in his den for now but still very dangerous. Do not depend too much on him."

Arodien opened her mouth as if to argue but then she only said, "Alright." She smiled. "Thank you." He answered her smile with a tight one of his own. Arodien searched his eyes.

"I barely know what you are thinking these days." She brushed her hand over his lips. "Even your smile is mysterious now."

"I am thinking that you should be careful." Thranduil said when her fingers lifted. He grabbed her wrist gently in one hand. "Maeglin is still dangerous, and he should be considered one until he declares and proves his loyalty. I will be very hurry if I lose you." Arodien smiled.

"I will see you later, when our duties do not keep us apart." Arodien turned with a lingering glance behind her shoulder and left. Thranduil watched her leave and then, he headed for the infirmary.

The infirmary was blissfully quiet. He spoke to a passing healer to find Bregon and headed for a curtained bed.

He pulled back the curtain and peered inside. Langwen was fast asleep. She seemed barely improved. Thranduil walked silently up to her and touched her hand.

"How is she?" Thranduil asked, sensing Bregon behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. He was right. He was there.

"She is alive but she slips in and out of consciousness. But otherwise, it will be difficult for her. Her wounds are barely healing and her mind is fractured. She relives the terror she went through." Bregon hesitated. "It will be merciful for her to die because if she lives, then it is a painful existence. She will never be the same."

Thranduil said nothing. Instead he pulled up the curtain and entered Langwen's small space.

She was still much the same way as he saw her first. Hygiene did little to help; it only made her look worse. Her body was skeletal, weak with wounds and permanent scars. He took her hand into his own and leaned forward.

"Langwen?" He murmured, touching her shoulder with a free hand. "Can you awaken for me?" Langwen stirred and her eyes flickered open.

"Thran-" she breathed.

"Hush," Thranduil said. "There is no need to speak." Tears came unbidden in her eyes.

"I am broken."

"No-"

"Don't lie."

Thranduil fell silent and only squeezed her shoulder in sympathy.

"Let me go," she whispered in his ear.

"I cannot." Thranduil answered gently. "There is no place for you to go. The Halls of Mandos are broken. You will be lost in Arda, a vision of your former self and nothing more."

Langwen's eyes brimmed with tears.

"It is better than to live a life like this," she answered. She took in a breath that sounded more like a sob. "Please. Leave me be."

Thranduil sighed. Langwen was right. She was injured and weak, broken both in body as well as in mind. It was unlikely that she would recover. There was no one left for her, only Fion and possibly their children who all but disowned their father. He looked at her again, her eyes were now closed and her breathing was soft and even.

He heard the rustle of the curtain moving behind him. Bregon stepped inside.

"She wants to leave." Thranduil said, his voice suddenly husky.

"I know." Bregon said. "She begged me to do it, but I decided to wait for your decision."

"I seem to be the one burdened with the heavy decisions of late," Thranduil said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I remember when Fion married her, when she bore her firstborn. I shouldn't be the one making the decision of taking away her life. She has her children."

"They agree that you should be the one, having known them both for longer than they did." Thranduil pursed his lips.

"Do it," he said, defeated. "And let this be another thing on my conscience."

Bregon wisely did not answer.

Thranduil watched the proceeding from where the curtains parted and gave full view of her bed. When Bregon was done and the array of empty syringes was carried away, Bregon came up to him.

"It will not be long now." Bregon said.

"I will stay with her." Thranduil replied. Bregon nodded and excused himself.

"Ai, Fion, if only you were here." Thranduil murmured. "Forgive me."

Thranduil returned to her side and held her thin hand in his two warm ones. He stayed there, listening to her breaths rattle within the confines of her chest. It sounded strange, like a hollow item rattling in a deep bowl. He lifted her hand and pressed a chaste kiss on the back of it. He remained there by her side until she breathed her last. Her eyes were already closed. Thranduil released her and gently tilted her head so that her mouth remained closed and stroked her forehead before stepping back. With a heavy heart and aching knees, he rose and stepped outside the curtains to find a healer discretely waiting by.

"Ready her for burial." Thranduil said to the healer. Suddenly the scent of the infirmary was overwhelming. He left with nearly a sprint. As soon as he came through the doors, he found Oromë outside.

"Good grief, do you never stop poking your nose into my business?" Thranduil demanded. Oromë looked wry.

"You always complain but you don't mind it." Oromë said. Thranduil looked at him, exasperated. Then he turned and walked off. Oromë fell in step beside him.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" Oromë demanded.

"It never works with you." Thranduil said. "You always keep following me even if I- stop following me!"

Oromë did not listen. Thranduil stepped into the sanctuary of his room and tried to close the door before the Vala entered. Oromë stopped the door with a slap of his hand on it and he stepped inside. Thranduil glowered at him but let him in. He grabbed a tablet resting on his desk and sank into the nearest chair, determined to ignore his company.

It held the most recent reports of Berethil, about supplies and the number of extra people staying in their Halls. Fortunately, the Ellyth were strong and dependable in this aspect. All he needed was to look them over and approve what he needed.

He worked quietly, ignoring the awareness of Oromë nearby who refused to look away from him. He felt as if his identity was ripped away, and innermost secrets were bare.

"Have you left your grieving behind?" Oromë asked finally.

"Hm?"

"Grieving for Thorontur and Maedhros' Queen," Oromë explained. "Or perhaps you never even started it."

"Grieving?" Thranduil echoed. "I don't have time for that."

"You haven't mourned for her." Oromë insisted while watching him with an intent gaze. "Or for Thorontur." Thranduil waved a dismissive hand.

"In another time, perhaps. For now, I have too much to do and very little time." Thranduil said before he turned his attention to the screen.

"What would you do if Maeglin betrays your wife?"

"I would kill him slowly and skewer him to an upright spear for the entire world to see what I do to traitors."

"Would you?"

Thranduil glanced at Oromë.

"Would I what?"

"Carry your threat through? You have made many claims but your sentences are always milder than what you say."

"Nowadays, the world has no place for niceties." Oromë smiled sadly. Harmful frowned. "What?" He demanded.

"You have become brutal," Oromë said. "And I feel it was my fault that you became this way." Thranduil snorted.

"Time made me who I am."

"Aye. It did." Oromë said softly. "You are wounded, Thranduil, grievously."

"I am fine. I just need some rest." Thranduil waved a hand dismissively. But Oromë caught it in a firm grip of his fist.

"That is not what I meant." Oromë corrected. "And you know it."

Thranduil was still for a moment and then snatched away his hand as if Oromë's touch burned him. If possible, Oromë's eyes became sadder.

"Niennna does not approve that I am not letting her heal you. But you are needed."

"I know." Thranduil said. "That is why I am still here." He finished reading and returned the tablet on his desk. "Now you will excuse me."

"What?" Oromë looked startled. "Where are you going?"

"To a funeral."

oOo

The burying grounds were silent and empty, except for himself, Fion's children and the Ellyn who would bury the body. Thranduil exchanged quiet words with Fion's children before stepping up to her coffin.

Langwen looked just like she did in life. Her cheeks and eyes seemed more sunken in death. Her face was pale and her lips were dry. She wore a simple white dress, hiding most of the abuse she faced in recent years with her hands folded in front of her. She was to be shrouded in the cloak of a soldier, who died from wounds inflicted by the enemy. Her dull hair hung in a single braid over one shoulder.

He murmured soft prayers over her body and reverently lowered her lid.

He placed one hand over her coffin and murmured a short prayer. Then he stepped back and nodded towards the Ellyn.

"You may bury her." They murmured assent and got to work.

oOo

Éomer stood grinning beside a bad-tempered horse with a dull red coat.

"How is it that even Firefoot is alive?" Aragorn asked with a frown. Firefoot exhaled through his nostrils and rubbed his head against his back.

"The Valar work in strange ways." Éomer remarked sagely. "Firefoot is a life companion."

"I don't know what Lothíriel would think about that." Aragorn remarked. Everyone else except for Éomer laughed. Éomer shook his head.

"Idiots, all of them," Éomer told his horse. He surrendered his horse to a nearby groom.

"Don't bite him, kick him, or flatten him with your rump," Éomer warned his horse. "And for Béma's sake, keep to your best behaviour."

"And if he gives too much trouble, tell him he'd sleep with my hounds." A new voice called. They all turned. Thranduil stood with his hands clasped casually behind him, a small smile on his face. Thranduil came down the few steps, still smiling.

"Ah, King Thranduil," Aragorn greeted him. He raised his cupped hand as if he would a glass. "You are still standing, I see." Thranduil laughed.

"Well, I hope you all enjoyed it." Thranduil answered. "Elven dramatics never ceases to disappoint many poets and writers." Laughter rippled through the gathering.

"Well, it is a good thing you decided to join us." Éomer said. "We will relieve your stress." They all murmured agreements but Thranduil shook his head ruefully.

"I actually came to speak to the Hobbits. Well, Bilbo and Frodo to be precise." Thranduil glanced at Sam, who seemed a bit put out. "And perhaps, Master Sam will come along since he goes where Frodo goes."

"But what about us?" Pippin protested. Merry nodded vigorously, his curly hair bouncing with the movement.

"You do not have to poke your noses into everything," Bilbo scolded them crossly. "Stay put!"

Pippin and Merry grumbled but did not protest further. Thranduil led Bilbo, Frodo and Sam to secluded place, into a pavilion through a stream passed.

"I will not lie," Thranduil said warmly to Bilbo once they were seated. "It is good to see you again, little burglar. I missed your company since we last met in Imladris all those years ago."

"You remember our last meeting but I remember our very first." Bilbo said with a laugh. "That one was meant for the books! But Master Legolas tells me that many tales of Mirkwood never survived time."

Thranduil smiled. There was something about Hobbits that always made him smile. Their jolly manners and proper ways accompanied by their small but formidable size were unique.

"Time was never a friend to those who lived in Greenwood." Thranduil said ruefully. "But that is not what I wanted to talk about. I merely wished to decide what to do with you and your people now that you are here."

"Begging pardon in all this mighty talk," Sam interjected. "But it seems pretty clear to me why we are here. We are here to help! And even fight if we have to." But Thranduil shook his head.

"I do not doubt your bravery, Master Sam," Thranduil said. "Few could claim similar sacrifice like the one you made, but that does not change facts. You and your people are ill-equipped to handle war. Aside from the five or six of you, the rest have never held weapons in their entire lives and taken another's life. You are not ready for the price of war either. You prefer peace and solitude, where you could tend to your farms and look for proper meals in earn and safe shelters. War goes against your very nature."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, his face looking cross but Frodo spoke first.

"King Thranduil is right, Sam," Frodo said. His head was lowered, his voice quiet but very clear. "The Enemy is our enemy just like he is for the rest of the Free People but we do not know a thing about wars. If we try to join forces, then we will be among the first to die."

"But we can't leave them to fend for their own!" Bilbo said, offended. "We have to join forces! We'll learn how to fight!" But Frodo shook his head. It seemed as if Frodo was the only one agreeing with him.

"They all have enough to worry about without troubling them about teaching us." Frodo replied. "It'll take them all years to teach us and even then it will not be enough."

"But we must do something, Master Frodo!" Sam insisted.

"You should not have come," Thranduil said with a sigh.

"We were summoned." Bilbo corrected.

"You should not have come regardless." Thranduil sighed wearily. "The world has changed, Master Burglar. There is no patch of safe haven for you or your people. The years to come will be long and hard. I do not have enough men to challenge the Enemy as it is and I will be hard-pressed to keep you under my protection. It is not a responsibility that I will shirk but at the same time, it will be a heavy burden." He offered a small smile to take away the bite from his words. "I do not mean to be harsh."

He heard a single knock on the door. When Thranduil opened it, he found Yavanna and Oromë standing before him.

"Is something amiss?" Thranduil asked.

"You are speaking to the Hobbits. Perhaps I can throw light on why they were reborn."

"Oh?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"They have a purpose in war."

"But-" Thranduil stopped when Yavanna brushed by him. Thranduil turned his attention to Oromë.

"Why are you here?" Thranduil demanded.

"I have nothing to do." Oromë said. "I thought I could be useful here."

"No, you are just here to piss me off." Thranduil said. Oromë grinned and sat by the wall.

"I will be quiet. You will not even know I am here." Oromë said. Thranduil glowered. Then he turned to Yavanna.

"Kementári," Thranduil interjected. "I understand the Valar believe that the larger our numbers, the better. But the Hobbits have no training in war, and I doubt they would wish to-"

"They have their purpose." Yavanna interrupted. She smiled tenderly at the three Hobbits. "They are small, and many underestimate them. You may learn all there is to know about them in a short time and yet they may surprise you with their loyalty and bravery at the hardest of times." She lowered one hand to brush through Sam's curly head. The Hobbit blushed and mumbled something. "Among all the Free People, only the Hobbits gave their love to greenery worthy of my attention. Neither Men nor even elves showed such attention to my creations. And that is for the best, isn't it? You need food, else your armies starve. Let the Hobbits control your farms. They will not disappoint you." She folded her hands before her.

"Splendid," Sam burst as soon as Yavanna's hand lifted from his head. "I am not too keen on another trek through the dangerous wilderness. I mean, I would if I must and I make no fun of those who do. But I would not mind working on a field and providing crops and such for the armies. That is a noble cause, isn't it? Even if we are not doing any fighting?"

"Very noble," Thranduil said dryly. "If our armies are not killed on the battlefield, they'll die from starvation if supplies are not given to them." Sam turned white.

"Don't frighten the poor Halflings," Yavanna scolded Thranduil.

"I am only stating the obvious." Thranduil stroked his forehead. "You Valar placed much of your thought in this." Thranduil noted thoughtfully. "I would not have considered the Hobbits' purpose was for farming."

"Each of us has a purpose." Yavanna answered with a smile. "It is up to us to find it." Her smile faltered. "I will bless them with a gift, so that their farms will never know any harm. You will have your supplies, at least until I rest."

"Rest?" Thranduil repeated, surprised. He heard another knock on the door.

"What now?" Thranduil muttered as he opened the door. He looked up and blinked.

"I thought I might find you here." Manwë said.

"By all means, come on in." Thranduil said with a pleasant smile and opened the door wider. "You will find I am becoming quite good when it comes to listening and making peace."

"I am sure you are." Manwë said, matching his smile. He looked at Oromë in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Pissing off Thranduil," Oromë said.

"And doing a mighty good job at it." Thranduil said under his breath.

"I actually came to speak to you." Manwë began. Thranduil stopped him by holding up a hand. Manwë quietened, looking offended that a mere Elven King dared command him. Thranduil looked at Yavanna.

"What do you mean 'rest?" He demanded.

"That is what I am here to speak to you about." Manwë said in aggrieved tones. Oromë quickly hid his smile behind a hand. Thranduil turned to him.

"What do you mean by 'rest'?" Thranduil asked again. Manwë opened his mouth.

"I told you before that our powers are weakening." Oromë said. Manwë closed his mouth with a click of his teeth. Thranduil saw that Oromë's smile was gone. "When Morgoth regains his powers, ours will weaken and will continue to weaken unless we rest. Until Dagor Dagorath. How long will that be, we do not know. It may be months, or even years. The Valar will rest, somewhere safe and isolated until the time comes when we are needed."

Thranduil remained silent. He inwardly hoped he would not be tasked to look after them while they gained their strength. The discovery of all the Valar fast asleep within his kingdom would draw the Enemy to his borders.

"Do not worry," Manwë soothed him with a touch of amusement, obviously understanding the nature of Thranduil's silence. "None of us will burden you with our presence while we recuperate. You have much to do, and our presence will only hinder you." Thranduil grinned suddenly.

"Well, that is one less item to worry about." Thranduil quipped. Oromë and Manwë laughed. "What about Aulë?"

"He is leaving Tol Antanë and will join us on our rendezvous."

The preparations for the Valar's departure were swift. In three hours' time, Thranduil managed to provide the Valar with a sizable escort to take them wherever they wished. They met at the entrance to his Halls. Word had spread about the Valar. Many people were gathered to watch the Valar depart.

"It is time to leave." Oromë said when he came to Thranduil. "I hope you are not too angry with whatever boundaries I overstepped." Thranduil offered barest of smiles.

"Whatever choices led to this, I am glad to have you as a friend." Thranduil said.

Oromë smiled at the peace offering.

"As am I," Oromë returned softly. "You doubt yourself, Thranduil, where I never doubted you for a moment. Stay strong. I plan to stand by you when the battle arrives." Thranduil, still smiling, nodded.

"I plan to see you there." Thranduil said. Oromë nodded and smiled before turning on his heel. Oromë joined the rest of the Valar. Thranduil followed them as they left the Halls, dimly aware of the people coming behind him. The Valar climbed on their craft, heavily guarded with vehicles on both sides filled with soldiers. They watched in solemn silent as the escort disappeared into the trees.

"There's something on your mind?" Arodien asked, standing beside him.

"Oromë befriended me when I was a new soldier. He never left me, no matter what happened." Thranduil said. "This is the first time he left me on my own."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hello, everyone! How are you?

There's no plausible excuse for disappearing for nearly a year, except that I hit on a massive writer's block and busy RL. But I am here now, and this story is really not abandoned!

See you guys in the review section! *puppy dog eyes*

 **Replies to Anon:**

Andis: Thank you so much for reviewing! Hope you continue to enjoy it!


	8. Galadriel

**Chapter 7**

 _We knew the Enemy has come. We even knew that it was only a matter of time before his forces attacked us. But we did not know how soon it would be._

 _We were unprepared._

 _They are coming._

* * *

Húro was restless on his finger. Thranduil stood upon a balcony of belonging to one of the higher levels, facing the forest before him. In many aspects, the forest reminded him of Mirkwood but he missed the old trees more. They were wise and dangerous yet playful, loyal and protective towards him. Thranduil fiddled Húro over his finger, studying the way the trees bowed and waved whenever the wind blew.

"What are you doing?"

Thranduil turned and found Elrond standing behind him within the archway. He was amused to note the Elf was dressed in a green dress shirt and dark grey pants.

"You look good in modern clothes." Thranduil complimented. Elrond grinned.

"I am beginning to see why you prefer them." Elrond admitted. "And you are avoiding my question."

"I was considering a veil." Thranduil said. "Galadriel created one over Lórien. Perhaps I could make one to protect my people." Elrond's face darkened.

"Galadriel had a great price to pay for her choices." Elrond said. "As did we all."

"I know-"

"No, you don't know." Elrond said. He grabbed Thranduil's hand and held it up until the starlit filled the gems on his Ring full of bright light. The gems glittered, like fallen stars that chose to grace his hand. "I do not think Oromë explained to you, precisely what Húro is capable of. I know because you look upon this Ring with the same awe we had when Celebrimbor gave them in our safekeeping. Only Círdan was the wise one who never used his Ring. All of us, however, were too blind with the possibilities to consider the cost."

"Húro is far superior to the Rings of Power we possessed but at the same time, it has its own flaws. A Ring of Power is unnatural, meant for things that may be pleasing to look at but once its power fades, you realise it was only a mirage." Thranduil knew what Elrond hinted at; Lórien under the rule of Galadriel when it stood as if untouched by time. Lórien's beauty disappeared quickly after Sauron was defeated. "I was there when this Ring was presented to the Valar." Elrond said at last. His lips twisted as if he tasted something distasteful. "I was against giving it to you."

"Why?" Thranduil asked curiously.

"Because you are an exemplary leader," Elrond cut off and held up a hand when Thranduil laughed and tried to interrupt. "Let me finish." He said. "Among all the Realms, yours persevered without the need of a Ring and your people never lost their hope nor gave in to grief even in their darkest hours. The Ring changes the bearer as well as those around it. It... Ages you, so to speak. It's difficult to explain. You will see the changes when some years pass by. Although, I wish you would stop using it for everything."

"I don't use it for everything." Thranduil said, his pride and temper now pricked.

"You are starting to." Elrond said with a shake of his head. "Maybe before you were hesitant while using it. You are now slowly gaining confidence and with it you are testing your boundaries. My advice is; don't fall for it. Control its temptations. Celebrimbor bought this idea from Sauron. In a way, it is a shadow of what the One Ring was capable of."

The comparison made Thranduil sick. He fought the urge not to pull Húro off his finger or even look down on it. Elrond didn't watch his inner turmoil. He only excused himself and left Thranduil alone to brood.

Wanting to shake off his new feelings, Thranduil found himself in the exercising rooms. It was mostly empty since many were busy with errands and duties. He found Kate exercising in a corner dressed in loose pyjamas and a sleeveless shirt that showed her midriff. Her body was trim, with budding muscles. Her sword slashed through the air, whistling as it went.

"It's hard to think how different you were when we first met." Thranduil called. When she stopped and turned, he was smiling. "And you favour your right. Stop that. It leaves an opening."

"Not all have hundreds of years of experience." She said. She walked over to him and picked up a towel lying on the ground nearby. She wiped the sweat of her body with one hand, holding her sword in the other. "I feel different." She admitted when her forehead was wiped. "I feel old, like I have some experience. And yet I feel young. It's difficult to explain."

"You feel old because you are starting to understand what you have gotten yourself into." Thranduil said. He picked up two wooden swords from the stand. "And you feel young because you still have some innocence left. Here, practice with me."

"I'll lose," she said ruefully as she set her things aside and took place across from him. She held her wooden sword in a ready position.

"Well, you'll know how strong your enemy would be then. You'll get there."

As they exchanged blows, Thranduil privately admitted that Kate was good. Celegorm was merciless in her training. She knew how to match an Elf's speed with surprising flexibility and dexterity of her own. She left openings when she favoured her right, though. For a moment, he ignored them because he enjoyed the workout. Then he finally took advantage.

"Dead," he said with he managed to slip under her guard and disarm her. "I told you, you need to stop favouring your right." Kate laughed.

"I'll work on it." She promised. "Right now, my sides are burning. It's cold in here even after such a vigorous workout." She returned the sword to its place and began to tug on her coat. Thranduil set his beside hers when suddenly Kate shrieked and dropped her coat.

"What?" Thranduil demanded. Kate bent down and picked up her coat, looking shaken.

"It's nothing," she answered. Her voice trembled slightly. She yanked the sleeves over her arms and shrugged its own. Then she laughed in a self-loathing way. "Just voices in my head."

"Is Thorontur among them?" Thranduil asked. Kate shook her head, lips tightly pursed and face still ashen. "Where did he go?"

"Same place where Arodis went, I suppose. I am not sure. They aren't happy with me."

"And why is that?" Thranduil asked.

"They want me to be more than what I am now." Kate smiled ruefully. "I am not sure what they want and they wouldn't say."

"Maybe it is something you have to figure out yourself."

"If I do that, then what if I figure it out too late?" Kate asked.

"If that is what worries you, then I suggest you decide to face your fears, rather than running away from them. Like you are afraid of the dead."

"I am not-"

"Aye, you are." Thranduil said firmly. "It shows, Kate. You have to embrace it. It is something you cannot help, something you had since your childhood. Prepare yourself with it than let it consume you."

"I don't wish to speak about it." She said quietly. She looked away. "Leave me be, please." Thranduil heaved a sigh.

"Forgive me," Thranduil said gently. "I may have overstepped my boundaries."

And then he left. Thranduil wandered aimlessly for a while, stopping for a friendly chat with Beleg and a few others he once knew when he was only a soldier in Doriath. Then later he found Elrond again, speaking to some of the Elves Thranduil recognised as those who lived in Imladris long ago. He stopped by Elrond, waiting until he was free to speak with him in private.

"I have been thinking that we need to divide the people throughout the world." Elrond said. He seemed to ignore the tension he had caused from their chat on the balcony. "We can't stay here as a group. We'll be easy pickings and the longer we tarry, the worse will be the outcome."

"I agree," Thranduil said dryly. "Get out of my lands. No one except for my own people is welcome. Go find your own lands." Elrond threw him a disapproving glare.

"This isn't a joke."

"Quite right, it isn't. But if I don't joke about it then my head would be near about to explode." Thranduil said. Elrond threw him an arch look.

"That won't be a pretty sight." He said. Thranduil snorted, amused.

"I am not sure which one would be a greater mess." Thranduil said. "My head exploding or the mess all these Elves are creating by being in one packed space."

"We need to spread out," Elrond said with a frown. "Quickly now, but not without a plan. There is no need rush into matters without thinking them through."

"There are many options available. You may join the Haradrim in Africa, settle here in Britain or join the fight in Middle East or in Russia. We must discuss it and consider it a top priority."

"We should indeed. Where is Legolas?"

"Leading a search party to a nearby military facility." Thranduil answered. He caught Elrond's worried frown. "He'll be careful."

"I know. I do not doubt it. I heard of this... Facility and read the reports. I feel he should do it with more caution." Before Thranduil could reply, a new voice piped behind them.

"What are you talking about?"

Thranduil and Elrond looked behind to find Alice standing there with her hands on her hips, right on her belt.

"Exploding heads and old Elven feuds," Thranduil said immediately before Elrond responded. The Lord rolled his eyes and said nothing.

"Well, come on then. There is something we need to show you."

"We?"

"Miranda, Kate and I," Alice said impatiently. "Now hurry!" She turned on and started to walk. Thranduil and Elrond followed soon after.

"What is this about?" Thranduil asked. "I should let you know; I have begun to hate surprises."

"You'll like this one," she said over her shoulder. "Miranda was sent to infiltrate Demetri's forces but his defenses were too good. So she went in for distraction. While they interrogated her, we went in and found many things that interested us."

"Such as?"

"Come on, we'll show you." Miranda insisted.

"Says the chipmunk." Thranduil said, ignoring her glare. "Say, does the chipmunk finally found herself a male chipmunk to spend some time with?"

Miranda looked away, not even bothering to dignify his teasing with a response. Thranduil chuckled and shook his head.

The two Elves obediently followed Miranda out the Halls until they came into a small, secluded clearing where Kate and Alive waited.

"Check it out," Miranda said proudly, gesturing at the ungainly machine in the middle of the clearing. Thranduil eyed the long tube of metal, unimpressed. It stood six foot tall, and it was nearly fifteen foot long. The tube was encased with bands of metal plates and it seemed to hover above ground.

"Wonderful," Thranduil said wryly. "Something for the smiths to melt down." Miranda punched him at his side. Thranduil grimaced and rubbed his ribs.

"Don't be an idiot." Miranda said. "It's a shield device."

"Begging pardon," Elrond said mildly. "But I doubt any soldier could wield that in a battle." Thranduil laughed.

"Don't waste time on their jokes, Miranda." Kate interjected before Miranda spoke. She knelt before what appeared to be a control panel. "This is the stuff for the future, Thranduil. We have Dagor Dagorath upon us and all sorts of nasties holding grudges-"

"That is very true."

"And we need defenses." She finished, fiddling with the control panel. Lights flickered across the hands of metal and Thranduil felt a prickling in the air. He looked up warily, sensing something that he could not see, and yet was not related to some ethereal power. Kate got up, dusting off her hands in satisfaction.

"Feel that?" She asked.

"Aye, I feel it," Elrond muttered, his hand holding his sword warily. "Yet I do not see it."

"It's a shield," Miranda explained. "I am not familiar with the physics behind it. This is the stuff that exists more in fiction and in top-secret projects. It's the first time I saw it myself."

"Yes, but from what?" Thranduil asked.

"From an attack," Miranda said. She pulled out her gun and started to walk out. Then he saw it, the shield was energy nearly transparent in sight until one tilted his or her head just right to catch the flicker of light across its surface. It was indeed like a shield, covering them like a half of a sphere. Miranda turned around once she was outside.

"Well, here's to hoping I don't kill myself." Miranda said.

"What are you-" Thranduil began and stopped as soon as she pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

He heard the blast of the gun, the crackle of the shield as the bullet hit it and reversed back. Miranda fell back on the ground with a loud thud.

"Miranda!" He ran up to her, passing through the barrier. It was an unpleasant feeling, as if electricity danced over his surface. He dropped to his knees by Miranda.

The woman opened her eyes and winced. She unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a bulletproof vest underneath.

"That hurt." Miranda muttered. "Ever felt the bunt blow of a bullet? It can make you lose your breath." Thranduil laughed and helped her up.

"Well, I have." Thranduil said. He looked at Kate. "That is impressive." Kate grinned.

"It is. Unfortunately, this is a prototype. We found this when we went to rescue Miranda from Demetri. It has limited battery, can only protected a certain range unless you stack them in more units. Also, it can protect you from stray bullets and meagre firepower but if you too much ammunition, it will break the shield. Oh, and it runs on solar energy."

"You always keep good news for me." Thranduil said dryly. Kate grinned.

"I will send this to Amrod. Maybe he can build us a better version. Possibly more." Kate said.

"Good. I want them."

"But for what good?" Elrond said. "It will give us very little protection for barely few minutes if we face dragons and balrogs."

"A few minutes may mean a lifetime." Thranduil said firmly. "And we are not going to use this prototype, rather than an improved version of it." Elrond seemed to disagree but he held his tongue. Thranduil looked at Kate. "I'll send a craft to Tol Antanë with it." The women nodded, satisfied and pulled the shield device between them, chatting as they left.

"I know you don't approve," Thranduil said. "But I am the King and I must do as I must."

"I know." Elrond said wearily. "And I respect you for it. I joined you because it is easier to persuade you as an ally than as a friend. I still think you should choose your help wisely." Thranduil knew he spoke of Húro. He twisted Húro on his finger until the gems faced his palm when he closed his fist.

"I will pay any price as long as my people remain safe." Thranduil said finally.

"I think you place too much trust into inventions," Elrond said with a frown. "It may fail you."

"Times have changed, Elrond. If you think that you can win a war with old-fashioned armour and a sword, then by all means, try." Elrond pressed his lips into a line.

"You do realise you could have been killed if the shield didn't work."

"Would have been better that way, to be honest."

Elrond looked at him disapprovingly and said nothing.

oOo

He found his wife where she always was lately, standing on a platform in the main hall where she directed all trivial affairs that did not demand his attention. He was grateful for it; the Valar knew how preoccupied he was lately. He reached her, noticing how she only turned to him when she was done speaking to their treasurer.

"How are you?" Thranduil murmured low in his wife's ear. Arodien looked up and smiled, taking his hand and placing it on her belly. He felt their child's kick against his fingers. He answered with a low laugh.

"Waiting eagerly for the babe's arrival," Arodien said.

"Only two months left. It won't be long now."

"I know." She said with a smile. Thranduil's smile faded. Arodien turned her attention to the newly arrived head cook and gave her orders. Then they were alone again.

"You have been working too hard." Thranduil said. "No wonder the babe is restless." He gently rubbed his hand over her belly, feeling his son kick his palm again.

"I am pregnant, not sick." Arodien said. "I refuse to sit and wait while everyone else prepares for war."

"Why do you have the stubbornness to match my own?" Thranduil asked tiredly.

"No other would have been a suitable wife." Arodien said pertly. Thranduil paused and Arodien's smile faded when an awkward silence fell.

"Aye," Thranduil said eventually with a smile. "That is indeed true." He brushed her cheek with his palm. "I love you, Armes." The admission thought some light back into her eyes.

"And I, you." She said, leaning into his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he found Dorián loitering nearby.

"Do you need something?" Thranduil said to his favoured spy as he withdrew his hand.

"I wanted to show you something."

"No rest for the wicked." Thranduil said with an upward glance to the heavens. "Come on, we need privacy."

"Alright," Thranduil announced as soon as Dorián closed and locked the door behind him. They stood in a private room, secluded in a way that their voices won't carry. "What did you want me to see?" Dorián did not waste a moment. He cradled an open laptop in the crook of his arm, tapping away as he spoke.

"I told you I placed a virus into Lórien's mainframe." Dorián began. Thranduil nodded in agreement. "Well I found something and I thought it was interesting." He placed the laptop in front of Thranduil and gestured at the laptop. A video on screen was on pause and waiting. Dorián played the video as soon as he drew near. They watched silently. The camera was high in the sky, likely footage from a drone. A plane appeared, taking elaborate dips and turns.

"Flying exercises," Thranduil guessed. "Is that what it is?"

"Yes." Dorián nodded. "But that is not all. Those are maneuvering techniques, meant to evade large obstacles."

"Like dragons," Thranduil said suddenly. He watched as a craft took a drastic dip, most likely scaling the entire length of a dragon before pulling away. "Those planes are unlike any I have seen. Celeborn must have those built specially for this, especially if they are capable of making such tight turns-"

"They do have an alliance with the Japanese." Dorián reminded. "And they have the best minds there are."

"I don't believe it." Thranduil muttered. "Why the need of secrecy? Why the need to capture my own spy when he was out on another mission?"

"That is something you will need to speak to Galadriel herself." Dorián said.

"Oh, I will." He said grimly. "As soon as she begins to answer my calls." He turned to Dorián.

"How are you?"

"Well." Dorián said. "Itching for a new mission."

"Good." He said. "Oropher will have a mission for you. He'll be giving the briefing." Dorián murmured assent and excused himself.

Thranduil sighed and returned to his chair. There were times when he wondered why he never burst from all the tension in the air. Galadriel still refused to answer his calls. In fact, no one from Lórien answered any of his summons. It was troubling. If he had the time, he would have sent someone to investigate. In fact, he had many things to do.

Instead, he went to the lowermost level and sat on a bench close to the hawks and hounds.

The silence was blissful.

Thranduil leaned back, resting the back of his head against the smooth stone wall behind him. The water from the streams trickled and the silver Hawks chimed melodiously as they settled for sleep. There was no song, no laughter which was eerie but at the same time it was peaceful.

Right at the foot of the wall where the Hawks made their nests were the kennels for their hounds. They were larger, with shaggy brown coats but a lithe, muscled form beneath. Thranduil loved his hounds and back when he lived in Mirkwood, he often trained them himself in the little free time he had.

One of the hounds got up and padded lazily toward him. Her pups scrambled and played around her as she walked. Thranduil smiled when she drew near and placed a hand on her head, murmuring softly. One of the pups, a small legs and a plump body, dragged a small stick to him. Thranduil grinned and took the stick, throwing it a few feet away. The pup ran after it, tail wagging wildly. He brought it back to Thranduil with muffled bark. Thranduil tried to take the stick, but the pup growled and wrestled with him.

"You may be on the heavy side," Thranduil murmured. "But you are fierce."

"Hounds," a long drawl sounded behind him. "I never thought you'd be a dog person." Thranduil inwardly signed. Just when he was beginning to enjoy the silence.

"I love hounds." He said neutrally without turning. "They are loyal beasts." He sensed the jab went home, from Celegorm's prolonged silence. Celegorm walked around him until he came into view. At once, the hound bared her teeth to Celegorm and growled. She lifted herself on her paws and left, her pups running after her.

"Animals don't like you," Thranduil said, watching the last pup scrabble on the steps as he sped off, its small tail wagging wildly. Celegorm's smile was bitter.

"They don't."

"I expect it has something to do with Huan." Thranduil remarked. Celegorm's lips thinned. "I am sorry." Thranduil said. "I didn't mean-"

"That doesn't change the fact that it is true." Celegorm said with a humourless smile. He sighed and sat down beside Thranduil. "When Huan saw the way I treated Tinúviel, he saw me for what I had become. I was not the same friend he once had. And when he showed mercy on Tinúviel, I was... Unkind to him. I imprisoned him, thinking that would teach him a lesson. Instead of treating him like a friend, I treated him like a master would a slave. Huan escaped with Tinúviel and forsaken me that day. After that, every animal barely tolerated my presence. It was different experience for me."

"Of course, given that you had a gift with animals since childhood." Thranduil said, softening as he understood Celegorm better. The Noldo smiled.

"When I was a child, they always found me playing in the forests. My grandfather joked that if I spent any longer there, Oromë would take me as one of his loyal hunters. It was strange to many, finding the son of an Elf renowned for his craftsmanship playing with wolves and lions in the forest."

"Your father disapproved?"

The mention of Fëanor made Celegorm pause.

"I don't think my father understood anything other than his work." Celegorm said eventually. "My mother claimed my father loved her, and for a time I do think my father tried to understand what love was. But to him it yet another puzzle, another calculation to solve before reaching a solution. He never saw people as people, and viewed himself above everyone else. He saw the flaws least of all in himself." Celegorm's corner of his lip tipped upwards in a sardonic smile. "Strange, isn't it? The genius of Elves could not understand what emotions were. Let me be clear, he was not a bad father. He was simply difficult to talk to."

"Which one of you was closest to him?"

"Maedhros," Celegorm smiled wryly. "He was the only one who tolerated father whenever he was in one of his moods. Father didn't like his brothers, but Maedhros always managed him. Maybe it was because Maedhros was his firstborn and closest to father in age." Celegorm turned pensive. "Father was young when he married, barely an adult."

"I know."

"Aye, you know." Celegorm said bitterly. "As many others know. But you do not everything about us. It was not a home of strife where we were born and raised. We had our favourite dishes. We had laughter. We had fights. We played tricks, like the time when Caranthir slipped a frog into Maglor's bed when he became too overbearing after his successes. Or when father chased our mother through the house when she doused him awake with a bucket of cold water. None now remember us that way. We are only killers, oath-breakers." Celegorm fell silent, but he was too immersed into his memories to realise he spoke more than he would have under other circumstances. "That changed in the end. It started with father at first. He became quiet and reserved. Then he became quick to anger. Our family dinners became awkward and silent. Then he spent more and more time in the forges. One day he came upon us and handed each a sword. He started with Maedhros first. He does not seem like it but Maedhros has a gentle heart, believing the best in others. That was why he believed Morgoth when he send he wanted peace. It led to his downfall. Father handed Maedhros a sword and told him to fight him. He wouldn't. Father didn't listen. He bore down on him, blow after blow until Maedhros was forced to defend himself. I think father would have even killed him if Maedhros did not try to save himself. He finally drew blood by cutting into father's arm." Celegorm drew a shaky breath. "I never saw father so pleased. Maedhros left and stayed in his room for a day. When he came out, he refused to talk about it to anyone."

"Did he change, after that?"

"Only in a way that a child loses his innocence when the world shows him its dark side. Maedhros was already quiet and private, but this time he held a new kind of alertness. And he was no longer as close to father as before." A pause drew out between them.

"Why?" Thranduil asked quietly. "Why did you follow him? Why take the Oath?"

"You weren't there, so you wouldn't know." Celegorm said quietly. "Even imagination doesn't do it any justice. My grandfather was well-loved. The people were grieving and they were angry that the Valar did nothing to bring Morgoth to justice. They worried more for the light of the Two Trees. Father was furious, grieving and... Well, they all said he was the most eloquent. His speech moved us all and no matter what kind of a father he was, we were his family. We did what we thought was best. It was only later when the Oath drove us and robbed us of peace and sleep did we realise how severe it was. By then, we were already kinslayers, oath-breakers caring for nothing but the Silmarils." The silence between them was long and heavy. He wondered what it was like, to never stop killing.

"It's strange." Celegorm said softly as if he read his thoughts.

"What is?"

"This wish for vengeance. I could that was what you wanted to ask. This... Lust for vengeance. You wish to hurt the one who wronged you, and that is never enough. You don't steal from the person who stole from you, or hurt the one who punched you. You want to catch him, to hurt him or torture him for as long as possible. Violence breeds violence in the worst ways possible."

"You would know." Thranduil said. Celegorm's frown deepened, seeming as if the years aged his fair youthful face.

"Aye," Celegorm said softly. "I would know."

There was an unnaturally loud bang and the ground shook.

"What in the-" Thranduil muttered.

"The Enemy is upon us." Celegorm said, scrambling to his feet. Thranduil followed soon after. The mother barked and herded her pups back to her kennel. They ran up the staircases until they reached the ground level where a massive crowd gathered in confusion and worry. Thranduil shouldered through them until he found his wife, Elrond, Miranda and Kate.

"What is this madness?" Arodien asked him as dust fell from the ceiling. The ground shook.

"Earthquake?" Miranda guessed.

"Unlikely," Kate objected. "The winds are picking up, outside."

Out of nowhere, a hand clasped tightly around Thranduil's wrist, startling him. He looked up, only to meet Maeglin's uncomfortably sharp eyes.

"Are you prepared for war?" Maeglin asked lowly. There was something different about him... Something dangerous and mad. Like dark being that thrived on death and chaos. "Prepared for war that has come to you with shadow and flame?"

Suddenly, a large, inhuman shriek split through the air, echoing deep into the Halls. It was an ugly sound that dug its claws into Thranduil's spine and scratched down his back. A revealing thought clicked into position within his brain. Thranduil wrenched his hand free from Maeglin's grasp.

"What is he talking about?" Elrond demanded, standing somewhere behind him. Thranduil ignored him.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Thranduil snarled, stepping forward until they were mere inches from each other. "You brought them down on your own kin all for unrequited love."

The gleam in Maeglin's eyes did not fade, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. Thranduil did not linger. Another scream echoed through the air, this one shriller, more challenging.

"Balrogs!" A shout came from out of the Hall. "Balrogs are upon us!"

"Balrogs!" Thranduil carried the shout, and many others did the same. "To arms! We must drive the foes back before they enter the halls!" He pushed through the crowd until he parted from them. "Legolas, to me! We need to prepare!"

The armoury was built close to the entrance, where Thranduil's own armour clothed a mannequin. Thranduil began impatiently donning it. Legolas was doing the same.

"What are we facing?" He asked Legolas. Thranduil cursed silently. He needed better armour. The one he had was old-fashioned and noisy. Just because he had a sword didn't mean he needed the same kind of armour. "Damn it, don't I have anything better than this?"

"Modern day armour isn't going to give you much protection against Balrogs." Legolas said.

"I know that, curse it. What's the situation?"

"It's too early to tell. But there are two ranks of Balrogs, ten in each rank that are approaching the halls from the front."

"Why haven't the sentries alerted us?" Thranduil demanded. Legolas paused.

"I assume they're dead. We hear nothing on the air."

"Damn." Thranduil muttered. Once he was done with his armour, he stepped outside, Legolas closely following behind.

"Tell Nimdir to take the Rangers and circle around the forest so that we surprise them from the back. You and father are with me."

"What about the reborn?"

"All of them must remain inside for now, except for Elrond and his people."

"They are not going to like that." Legolas admitted.

"I don't care." Thranduil said flatly. "The more people the Enemy sees, the more they will know that we have important masses here. I will not subject myself to another wave of attack." The ground shook again and they broke into a run. Legolas barked orders behind them.

Thranduil kept up a sprint to the main entrance and was soon joined with Maglor and Maedhros on either side.

"We have Balrogs!" Maglor shouted.

"You don't say?" Thranduil shot back, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"I'd rather take Dragons!" Maedhros answered. Thranduil silently agreed.

"Well, we don't have a choice on the matter." Elrond snapped at his foster-fathers. "So I suggest we take what we have and hope to last the night."

"Famous last words," Thranduil muttered.

They marched out the doors and halted right at the entrance of the halls. Thranduil saw nothing and heard nothing. They stood there for five minutes, tense and waiting. The silence stretched out for so long that Thranduil half-feared he was already deaf. Then they heard a low whistle, and a ball of flames crashed into the side of the mountain. The ground shook.

"Where are they?" Miranda demanded, peering into the night.

"Problem with Balrogs," Thranduil said. "When they shoot fire, they can do so from a long distance and go unnoticed. With Dragons, you at least know where they are."

They heard a loud shrill whistle. Thranduil looked up to see a ball of blue and red flames hurtling towards them.

"Incoming!"

Thranduil grabbed hold of his father and Elrond and dragged them under cover of the nearest pillar. Just in time. Something bright and black collided nearby. Red sparks flickered in the night.

"I thought Balrogs were weaker than Dragons!" Miranda cried while she sought shelter behind a neighbouring pillar.

"Yes, well, reality doesn't often follow myths!" Thranduil called. He caught the unmistakeable flurry of guard colours.

"Mithon!" Thranduil called to him. "Keep Ellyth of my household inside and protected!" Mithon dipped his head firmly. "And make sure Maeglin stays where you can see him at all times. I don't want him disappearing in this fray!"

"Of course!"

He looked down from the high ground upon the uneven ranks marching towards them.

Balrogs were twisted creatures but they were graceful nevertheless. Their shadow and fire churned across their bodies as if they were waves lapping lazily on a beach. They glided across the ground like clouds in the sky.

One of the Balrogs moved through the air with uncanny speed and speared a guard with its long spear. Fire burned from the wound.

"Charge!" Thranduil shouted and was answered with rallying cries.

Power surged through his Ring, lighting up his senses. It was followed soon with tingling sensation of cold. The balrog before his stilled suddenly, its flames dying into embers before frost settled into its limbs. Then the balrog transformed into a statue of frost.

"You can't keep blasting them." Elrond shouted. He grabbed Thranduil and dragged him back where the archers had a chance to shoot.

"I can and I will." Thranduil muttered. Elrond grabbed Thranduil and pushed him to the ground, slamming him once when his back hit the ground.

"Are you blind?" Elrond roared. "I have held a Ring of Power for far longer than you have. It brings strength at a price. It is unnatural! It weakens you and tires you in a way that you do not know! And mark my words that it will betray you if you rely too much on it!"

A scream behind them heralded danger. Thranduil pulled Elrond off him and let Húro's power course through him. It blasted the coming Balrog, turning it into a pinnacle of ice. Thranduil grabbed Elrond and pulled him back, cursing the advancing Balrogs.

"Dwarves!" A shout went up behind him. "Dwarves upon you! Death is upon you!"

Thranduil and Elrond looked, as the Dwarves ran forward, chanting in one loud voice with axes in their hands. Unlike Elves and Men, the Dwarves took advantages of their large numbers by forming complex arrangements to overcome their enemy.

"They won't be enough." Thranduil said grimly. Nothing prepared them for this moment. They were too scattered, too inadequately armed.

A loud sound blasted through the air. It sounded like a roar. It was loud, challenging and very familiar.

"Thranduil, duck!"

Thranduil grabbed his fallen sword and sprinted to the nearest hiding place, a long and thick boulder shaped like a pillar. He ducked behind the rock just in time. Walls of fire churned on either side of his hiding place. The air turned boiling hot and dry. His skin prickled with sensation and the rock turned very warm behind his back. He heard loud cries and scuffles of a fight tremble through air and land and then the ground shook as the creatures took to the air. He looked up at the sky, the dragons nearly hiding the stars by their long, wide wings and their sheer numbers. Some held Balrogs in their jaws and tore them apart. Others sheltered Thranduil's forces from the Enemy.

One particular dragon caught his eye as it held a struggling Balrog in its jaws and slowly gained altitude. Thranduil crept out of his hiding place, ignoring the increased warmth and looked up.

It was beautifully chaotic. Smaug's jaws were clamped tightly on the Balrog's leg, and the Balrog had its sword embedded deep in the dragon's side to form a complete, misshapen circle. Smaug gave a muffled roar of fury and pulled his head back, ripping off the Balrog's leg. The creature of fire and shadow gave an agonising scream and hung for dear life with the sword still buried in Smaug's side. Smaug's neck craned forward and he roared, fire spewing from his open jaws and bathing his entire length of body with fire. The Balrog gave one last scream, brutally cut off when its life was abruptly cut short. Smaug landed on the ground without any elegance, his wings spread out for balance. He dropped the carcass at Thranduil's feet and rumbled in satisfaction.

Thranduil stepped forward from safety, hesitant at first but bolder by the minute. He knelt beside the corpse. It lay prostrate on the ground, its body arched and twisted in obvious agony. Burnt flesh filled Thranduil's nostrils. He felt a gust of new cold wind and knew what approached. When he looked up, Smaug was there. The dragon lowered himself with enough gentleness not to shake the ground beneath him. The other dragons were still flying lazily in circles above them.

"I believe we have established that you need our help," Smaug drawled. His wings folded gracefully, releasing small currents of wind as they did so.

"Regrettably so," Thranduil said through clenched teeth. He raised himself to his full height, still dwarfed by the immense size of the dragon. He stood in a broken ring of fire, the inside blackened and charred. Thranduil was still in danger if Smaug decided to crush or burn him.

"Then it is time for an alliance between us." Smaug pressed one paw forward, his claw digging deep into the soft, supple soil. He lowered his head, his nostrils smoking still. "With our forces joined, the Dark One will face more difficulty than before."

"Of course, if we do not kill each other first." Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to help?" He demanded.

Smaug only rumbled a laugh and unfolded his great wings. With a mighty leap, he took to the air and flapped away, churning great winds in his wake.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I am sorry for the delay. RL hasn't been kind on me. But I have been working only on this story for a while. _Prophecy_ is almost done. I am also working on _Shade_ side by side.

If you have the time, please leave a review. :) It always puts a smile on my face when I hear from my reviewers.

 **Replies to Anon:**

Guest: Thank you! I am deeply touched. I hope you continue to enjoy it in the future!


	9. Maglor

**Author's Note:**

Mistakes? Aye, there will be mistakes in this chapter. :P

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

No matter how I live in the future, I will never forget the horror as I set foot on American soil. The once thriving and bustling cities lay silent and empty save for the few brave souls who dared stand up against the Enemy. These were just civilians, unprepared to fight against the very government they were once loyal to.

I have a feeling these civilians will prove me, right or wrong. Only time will tell.

Perhaps Maedhros was right; before I judge others, I should learn that I too have my faults.

* * *

Maeglin stood by the door, stone-faced and silent. Arodien heard none of the conflict outside. She only hoped for the best outcome. With nothing to do, she studied him. By appearance, he did not look like a killer. He seemed more like a scholar, assured and calm in his own skin. But his face was schooled in such an expressionless mask that she could not figure out his thoughts. She stopped beside him.

"What was it like when Morgoth promised you your heart's desire?" She asked. Maeglin looked at her casually, as if her presence was not unwelcome.

"Like the call of a seductive and skilled lover," Maeglin answered after a moment's thought. "Pleasing at the spur of a moment, but empty and meaningless after." He paused. "No one asked me that before."

"They should have."

"Why?"

"Because it shows you are just as flawed as everyone else, a good heart turned dark by Morgoth's whispers."

"Do you consider me salvageable? Like an abused dog waiting for a rescuer?" There was no smile on Maeglin's face, yet he sounded amused. It stung Arodien.

"If you prefer to compare yourself to a dog, then by all means." Arodien said tightly. "Your behaviour in the past was very much like it."

If possible, Maeglin's face darkened without a frown or tight lips. Admirably, he said nothing. Arodien felt guilt lift its ugly head.

"I am sorry." Arodien said. "I have been stressed lately." Maeglin smiled thinly but it told her that she played right into his hands.

"You are too easy to fool," Maeglin said. "If I must serve you, my lady, then you must be more cunning. How can I owe you my alliance otherwise?"

"I don't think you have to be cunning to be a leader."

"On the contrary, my lady. The time for honourable roles and such frivolities has passed. You need a sharp wit to work against the Enemy. Otherwise you have already failed." Maeglin tilted his head slightly towards the locked and bolted door. "I assume your husband is also bound by duty and honour. Neither of them will serve him when death draws near. It killed Turgon and his people, it will kill him and all that he loves."

Arodien reacted without thinking. Before she realised what she had done, Maeglin's cheek was already reddening and her hand was stinging. Maeglin blinked once before turning to look at her.

"Like I said, you are too innocent for this game. Both you and Thranduil." Maeglin gave a bow deep enough to mock her before leaving her alone with her churning thoughts.

She rubbed her aching hand and turned her attention to the guards standing close by. They witnessed everything even if they didn't hear their conversation. She paid them no mind. Maeglin was harmless- for the moment. He was right, though, even if she hated it. If they fought Dagor Dagorath with the same ideologies they kept during the Silmarillion, then there was no victory for them in the end. But what of Maeglin? There were times when she thought he was sincere. And other times, she likened him to a snaking sunning on a warm day; lethal and dangerous if caught unawares.

There were loud and rapid knocks on the door. Her guards unbolted and unlocked it before the door groaned open, revealing her grandson and father in law.

"They are free to come outside," Oropher said to the guards loudly. "The battle is won."

Gasps of happiness and delight echoed as people brushed past her and out of the open doors. Nimdir approached her, taking her hands gently in her own.

"Is all well, grandmother?"

"It's fine," she said, brushing off his concern. Arodien's eyes met Maeglin's. She looked away. "It's completely fine."

Nimdir frowned and said nothing.

oOo

"Elrond, stop complaining." Thranduil said wearily.

"Complaining!" Elrond hissed, pacing the room. "You never change, do you? You laugh off danger as if it were nothing. You make use of any power in your hands without any consideration of its consequences-"

"Elrond-"

"That is exactly the reason why we didn't want you to have a Ring of Power so long ago!"

Thranduil snorted.

"You didn't give me a Ring of Power because all of you thought I was unstable ruler because of my grief after my father's death." Thranduil said flatly. "And then you tried to convince my subjects they'd be happier in your domains. Don't twist reality to serve your delusions."

Elrond sighed and it seemed as he deflated. He stopped in front of Thranduil.

"I know." Elrond murmured, not quite meeting Thranduil's eyes. "It was wrong of us. Amroth disapproved and out of all of us, he was the only stout friend you had who supported your right to the crown. Times seemed different back then. You seemed different."

"Then I think we can agree that my decisions are my own and I consider them currently sound." The words had the desired effect. Elrond looked annoyed again.

"Thranduil!"

"Elrond," Thranduil mimicked. "Surely you know this is for the best."

"You bargained with Smaug?" Elrond said, gesturing with his hands. "You! You, of all people!"

"Yes, I, of all people," Thranduil said. "I never expected you to be upset about it."

"I did not expect you to accept it so readily! Smaug killed Dwarves! He killed Elves and Men! He prowled across your borders for years!"

"I know." Thranduil said mildly. "I was there."

The deadly look on Elrond's face told him he wasn't amused. Thranduil looked at him and folded his arms.

"What would have me do?" He asked wearily. "Morgoth's forces are reborn and together they are almost invincible. Optimism allows me to use the 'almost' but that doesn't change the facts, Elrond. We need allies, even if they are friends we don't want."

Elrond sighed and sank back against a table. He braced his hands on its surface.

"Thranduil," Elrond said tiredly. "I feel we are forced to make decisions which we have not fully comprehended. If we continue down this path, I fear we might lose control."

Thranduil waved a hand.

"Ifs and buts," Thranduil said. "They will always leave you in self-doubt. There comes a time, Elrond, when you need to learn to put some trust in your decisions, adapt to your mistakes and keep moving forward even when the situation seems dire."

"You don't always adapt to your mistakes."

Thranduil thought back to Dawn and the guilt that always remained with her memory.

"No, I don't." Thranduil said. "No one can be perfect like you." Elrond gave a bark of mocking laughter.

"We are in a mess, my friend," Elrond crossed his arms of his chest. "There is no doubt about it." Thranduil smiled.

"Then we have to make sure this mess doesn't turn into a bigger mess. And if it does, well, then we will have to find another solution."

Elrond laughed and shook his head.

"That defines our entire life." Elrond said wryly. "I still don't agree with the presence of the House of Finwë."

"You belong to the House of Finwë." Thranduil pointed out. "And Eldarion, your grandson is the joining of three major houses."

"I didn't kill Elves for a living." Elrond retorted.

"Humph. Neither did they." Thranduil said. "They've changed, Elrond."

"They're dangerous." Elrond's voice was flat.

"Indeed. They're as dangerous as you and I. Remember how we are in war?"

"Fine," Elrond said resignedly. "I doubt I'll agree with them on every turn."

"Don't start trouble where there isn't any," Thranduil warned. "I have already too much on my plate that I find difficult to digest. Try to be courteous, at least."

"I am." Elrond protested. "Just do not expect me to like it."

Thranduil leaned back on the balls of his feet, satisfied. That was as much as Elrond was able to promise him and he had confidence that Elrond abided with his word.

"You need to lie down."

"I do." Thranduil admitted. "But I haven't the time, curse it."

"Make the time." Elrond pressed. He offered him a small smile. "Your kingdom shall not fall while you sleep. I swear it." Thranduil gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you." Thranduil murmured. Elrond patted his shoulder comfortingly when Thranduil said his goodbye and insisted that Elrond wake up if he needed anything.

When he made his way to his rooms, he found Maeglin loitering by a fence a staircase down. Thranduil smiled grimly and took a detour. Maeglin didn't turn as he drew near.

"I hear you are at odds with my wife." Thranduil said conversationally. Maeglin glanced at him.

"You are kept well-informed, for someone who barely has time for himself." Maeglin answered in courteous tone.

"I make it my duty to know things in my domains." Thranduil said. "I safeguard my people, and I tolerate no harm upon them."

"Wise words for someone who has no wisdom for current affairs."

Thranduil smiled but it was cold one.

"You have a sharp tongue, like spikes upon a sheet of steel. Take care where you place it, and for the future, remember to keep it far away from my wife." Thranduil made to leave and then paused. "Or you shall suffer consequences."

He turned and left, but not before he saw Maeglin close his eyes.

oOo

Thranduil woke to Elrond shaking his shoulder firmly.

"Turin's here." Elrond said. Thranduil looked at him and buried his head in his pillow with a long groan. "He wishes to speak with you," Elrond said ignoring him. He pushed his shoulder. "Up."

"I hereby abdicate my throne and will let others deal with this mess." Thranduil muttered, sitting upright. Elrond grinned.

"Swear by it." Elrond prodded him. Thranduil fixated him with a glare and said nothing.

"Well, I certainly won't abdicate it so that it is yours for the taking," Thranduil announced as he sat up and threw off his blanket. He reached down and tugged his boots one by one.

"You are not going out looking like that. You need a wash and a brush."

"As if my looks matter." Thranduil scoffed but he complied nevertheless, even going as far as a change of clothes. He opted for a casual outfit of blue jeans and a deep green shirt. Elrond eyed him critically until Thranduil threw up his hands in frustration.

"You can wear the embroidered robes," Thranduil said, annoyed. "If I must deal with all of this, then I will deal with it in comfortable clothes."

Elrond shook his head but said nothing.

Thranduil left the rooms and found excited crowds filling the corridors of his Halls. There were murmurs and whispered chatter everywhere. He shouldered his way through the sea of people until he reached a banquet hall. At the head of a long table, his wife sat with Túrin on one side and his mother on the other. Thranduil never met his mother; he only saw her in paintings and sketches. Even then, he found her a harsh and cold woman with a straight thin lips and long silky hair. Her beauty lay in her grace rather than her features. She stood with her back as straight as a rod of steel. Her shoulders were straight and her hands were folded elegantly at the end of the table. Her hair was braided in a simple braid down her back.

On Arodien's other side was an empty seat for Thranduil. And beside that seat sat Túrin.

Thranduil remembered Túrin when he first met the Man when he was once a mere lad. Túrin was the same as he always was even as a boy; sober, quiet with a downward droop of his lips and a frown on his forehead that only grew as the years progressed. He might be called handsome, with his tall height and muscled build. His hair was smooth and fell in silky waves around his shoulders. His eyes were dark brown and his hair was the same. There was currently a short stubble on his cheeks but Túrin preferred his face shaven.

Thranduil never liked Túrin, but still gave him the respect he deserved. Even without a drop of humour and inability to pass a smile, Túrin was an able soldier and a fair man. His training under the Elves was strict and disciplined that provided effective results but turned the Man into something closer to a stone statue. And here was the puzzler; either Túrin truly possessed little to no feelings, or he was simply better in hiding them. This debate always remained with Thranduil throughout the Ages.

"I thought you will come down eventually." He heard a deep rumble beside him. Gandalf stood beside him, holding the head of his staff in both hands and leaned on the elegant white wood.

"Where's his father?" Thranduil asked.

"I do not know." Gandalf said in a low voice. "He was not there with them."

"And his sister?"

Gandalf paused.

"I do not know." He said eventually. "She met her death in the waters not far from where Túrin killed himself, but likely she was reborn far away where her body lay. I doubt we will ever find her if she does not wish to be found. Her shame was great when she found that her husband was her brother."

"So was Túrin's," Thranduil murmured. "Morgoth had sick sense of humour. Same is said for all his spawns." Thranduil became grim. There were too many strong leaders, too many passionate and strong wills living within his Halls. He had to be careful. If they fought amongst themselves, it would destroy them far worse than Morgoth's forces would. At the same time, he absolutely refused to allow anyone overpower him.

Thranduil approached the table, watching as Túrin ate in small, controlled bites. His manners were good but that did not hide his ravenous anger. Beside him, his mother ate with the same grace and discipline. Arodien saw him and began to rise. Thranduil stayed her with a motion of his hand. Arodien's movement caught Túrin's eye and he looked up. The chair screeched as the Man began to stand.

"Don't." Thranduil said. "There is no need for such display. Besides, I would never force a starving traveller away from his dinner." Túrin inclined his head gratefully and turned his attention to his plate.

Thranduil set one hand on Arodien's shoulder briefly before taking his seat. He refused anything that would have landed on his plate. Instead, he sipped on his drink and studied the guests over the rim. Morwen was as hard in nature as her features. Her lines were sharp and her cheekbones poked outwards. Her eyebrows were not thick but they were dense. Her hairline was smooth and her hair was as black as night. Morwen was a tall, thin woman. There was little in her that had anything to do with kindness. Thranduil let his gaze pass over Túrin. The Man was even harder to decipher. Thranduil had the advantage of the previous life in Doriath to aid him. But he knew nothing of him after Túrin was banished from the city. Thranduil tilted his head slightly and watched him all the while as he ate.

"For goodness' sake, let the poor boy eat in peace without your eyes watching his every move." An amused voice rumbled. Thranduil looked and found Gandalf standing by Morwen, his staff in hand and the other hand rest on top of the empty seat beside her.

"You seem to have an uncanny ability of heaping unwanted guests on me, even after all these years, Mithrandir." Thranduil's voice was mild. Gandalf raised his bushy brows in surprise.

"Would you be referring to the incident of the dragon, so long ago?"

"What incident?" Thranduil asked dryly. He meant it in sarcasm but Gandalf beamed.

"Exactly," Gandalf said happily. "All water under the bridge now." He drew up his chair and sat down, letting his staff rest against the table. He dug into his dinner with no small amount of enthusiasm. Túrin was nearly done.

"So what has brought you to my kingdom?" Thranduil asked Túrin.

"I come bearing aid, and to help where I am needed." Túrin said.

"And that is all?" Thranduil demanded. "Will you follow the rules of your liege lord or will you choose your own path?"

"I do what I seem to be right." Túrin replied eventually, after a brief pause. "Sometimes it goes against other people's wishes."

"And that is exactly why I feel your arrival to be a bad omen." Thranduil said, casting a careful glance over him. "How many Elves and Men have fallen? How many allies were harmed because you chose your own path, regardless of others?"

"I have changed." Túrin said. Thranduil snorted.

"Yet your words show that you have not. Forgive me, if I do not believe you. But I will not let you work with us only to find that you are unreliable by harsh experience."

Thranduil rose up, his chair pushing back with a loud screech. Túrin rose quickly.

"I would like to speak to you. You misunderstood me..." Túrin began but faltered when Thranduil threw a baleful eye at Túrin.

He turned away, ignoring Gandalf's laughter. He took one step and then stopped when he felt a hand clamp on his elbow, tugging him back. Thranduil looked behind him and found Túrin hanging on to his arm.

"I never expected you to meet me like this." Túrin said. Thranduil wrenched his arm free. Túrin held up his hand, palm facing him to show he meant no harm.

"Not many do," Thranduil said. "I just lost the patience to deal with hundreds of grudges over the years in the span of a few days."

"I bear no grudges," Túrin said. His face was earnest. "I only come to accomplish my goal. I will not cause any mischief, save protect myself against anyone who dares take these grudges against me. I have slighted many during my lifetime, and some of them will come asking for retribution."

"You make a promise you cannot keep." Thranduil said wearily. "One thing you should know. There is no clear goal this time around. Your purpose may change over time. So do not be surprised. Perhaps you are not as important as you may think, given the vast number of important figures now residing in my halls." He started to walk. Túrin matched his pace quickly.

"I have a purpose. A goal. The Valar would not take it from me."

Thranduil stopped and turned on his heel so abruptly that Túrin was forced to step back to avoid a painful collision.

"The Valar no longer guard the scales of the world, Túrin. They are as uncertain as all of us are. You are dead, so-called hero who seemed to have made many mistakes to amuse the dark forces at play in this world." Thranduil said frankly. "And now you have come back into the world for retribution and set the previous story to rights." Thranduil opened his arms wide, gesturing at the crowds of reborn around him. "That is the story of every single person reborn and herded into my halls. Believe me, Túrin son of Húrin when I say that you are no different." Thranduil let his arms fall to his sides.

Túrin, much to his surprise, did not back down. Instead, the Man stood taller and stared directly into his eyes. Thranduil felt admiration kindle inside him at his courage. But then, Túrin never lacked courage.

"I may have the same story like the rest of the people here. But you also need me. After all, I know how to kill a Dragon. And you have trouble with Dragons."

Thranduil's lips twitched but he sternly kept his face under control.

"Welcome to my halls." He said eventually. Túrin nodded, solemn and excused himself. Thranduil watched him go before shaking his head. He still felt like a helpless fish caught in a massive net along with many other fish. Only time will tell if his choices were the correct ones.

Shaking himself out of his morbid thoughts, Thranduil stepped into the main winding hall that held all the staircases that joined all the levels together. He breathed in the cold air, and took some comfort from the soothing symmetry within the architecture.

Someone else came to stand beside him. Thranduil glanced and stifled a sigh.

"You're supposed to be gone." Thranduil remarked. Maglor snorted.

"I wanted to." Maglor said.

"And then?"

"I don't want to visit America." Maglor said. Maedhros appeared on Thranduil's other side.

"Quit whining." Maedhros advised. Maglor growled and said nothing else.

"Honestly," Thranduil said in a deceptively mild voice. "One would think you are shirking your duties, Maglor. Or is it simply because you are afraid?" Maglor's scowl deepened but he kept his silence as colour rose in his face.

"Impudent pup," Maglor muttered. Thranduil caught a flicker of the famous Fëanórian arrogance in his voice. "I lived through more dangers than you ever did."

"And yet I lived a happier life." Thranduil quipped., ignoring Maglor's following glare.

"I will go with you," Fingon announced suddenly. He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward until he reached Maedhros' shoulder. "I am eager to be of some use. I would like to see Arda now that it has changed. And I would like to see how far the enemy has gone and what can be done to prevent his arm from growing any longer."

"It will be dangerous," Maglor warned. "You will not be allowed a shred of peace and we may go many days without food, shelter and a comfortable place to sleep. Here you will at least have the luxury of your own domain." Fingon was not surprised.

"I am well-versed in war, cousin," Fingon said with a faint, amiable smile. "I am no stranger to everything you have described."

Maedhros did not look too happy with Fingon's fearless volunteering. Fingon noticed.

"You needn't be worried," Fingon told his friend wryly. "I can look after myself."

"Says the Elf who died in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears." Maedhros threw at him.

"You were gullible enough to believe that Morgoth wanted peace and he captured and tortured you instead." Fingon retorted. Maglor laughed suddenly.

"Enough, you two." Maglor said, giving both Maedhros and Fingon a friendly clap on their backs. "Let's not bicker about past mistakes. If Fingon wants to join me, then by all means. I need some level headed Elf to give me some patience."

"When do you intend to leave?" Thranduil asked. Maglor grimaced.

"Now. I have delayed this far too long."

Maedhros gave his brother a friendly shove.

"Be nice. Don't annoy anyone. And keep your biased comments to yourself." Maglor grimaced.

"Can I say a few before I leave so that I don't randomly blurt them out?" He asked.

"By all means."

"Good." Maglor took in a deep breath and let it out in a single sentence. "America is a self-centred, egotistical nation that only thinks it is the height of civilisation when in reality, it was built on blood and war like the rest of the nations." Maglor paused and then added, "and I still think this is a bad idea. But I'll go." Maedhros grinned.

"Good luck," he said. Maglor huffed but as he turned to leave, Maedhros grabbed him by the elbow. When Maglor looked, his brother's smile was gone. "There are good people there." He said seriously. "Like there were among the Noldor and we barely knew them. Have faith in them."

Maglor's sharp retort died when he met Maedhros' earnest expression and answered with a wordless short nod.

"I'll see you later." Maglor muttered and marched to the waiting craft.

"He doesn't like this America," Fingon stated. Maedhros nodded.

"If I needed a label, I'd call him racist." Thranduil said. Maedhros laughed.

"He is partially correct about America." Maedhros pointed out. "But he is also very wrong. If you blame a civilisation for the actions of a few, that is an injustice in itself. And keep in mind, evil never prevails. If Maglor was right, they would have died out long ago. But there are good people among them." Maedhros paused. "And no man is completely evil."

"America has fallen, Medhros," Thranduil said. "But it's people still remain. They will survive this and all they need is a helping hand to pull them through this when the walls close in." Fingon excused himself after a brief exchange of farewell.

"I hope so." Maedhros said. "And I hope that I do not lose any more people that I care about."

Thranduil watched as Maglor and Fingon both boarded their craft and tried not to let his guilt show.

oOo

Amras was too used to the artificial cold of his laboratory. Recently, he was the only one working the early and late hours when many of his colleagues slumped off for much-needed rest.

Amras had no intention for sleep. It was the last thing on his mind, when a child's life was at stake and his wife was furious at him. He opened the containment room with remaking fingers on the security finger pad.

Ruan looked up at him from his bed as soon as Amras entered. The young lad smiled at him, white teeth sparkling against his dark complexion. Amras quickly knelt beside him.

"Morning," Amras said softly. "Come on now. We have work to do."

He let Ruan play beside him with his building blocks while his computer ran the tests. He absently ran his fingers over Ruan's head, feeling the bumpy textures of his braids. So far, he seemed fine. But...

Ifs and buts; they were the world's most dangerous words.

The computer beeped, alerting him. Amras looked through the report quickly, feeling sick in his stomach. He stared when he reached the end and then read it again to make sure. Then, finally, he gave a loud whoop, scooped the startled boy in his arms and danced around the room. He stopped after three circles around the room and hugged Ruan tightly to his chest.

"You are safe." He whispered, stroking the boy's head. "You are safe." Amras gave a small, wondering laugh. "Thank Eru."

He finally had a cure. Suddenly the boy's life was suddenly more precious. This secret needed to be kept secret until Amras had secondary plans. No one would touch this breakthrough... Or the boy.

oOo

Thranduil leaned against the banister, smiling slightly at the sight of numerous Elves, Men, Dwarves and Hobbits loitering about the halls. Aside from the steady hum of continuous chatter, there was general peace over his domain.

"See?" Thranduil said with satisfaction. "We can be friends, after all."

Aragorn and Éomer both smiled a little but sobered quickly.

"Thranduil," Aragorn prodded. "We can no longer impose on your hospitality. We have not only strained your resources but also made your kingdom more capable of an attack. The Enemy will attack again if we stay."

"I understand." Thranduil said. Then he sighed and admitted. "I cannot deny you are all putting a strain on my kingdom, and also on my conscience. I have a few places in mind. For the sake of security when you are still at your weakest, I would suggest taking places where the Fellowship has already placed their footholds. They will teach you, if need be. And you will never lack allies from them."

"I will go with them," Éomer said, his voice a deep soothing rumble. "And so shall the kings of old."

"But who will be the leader amongst you?" Thranduil asked. "Éorl?"

Éomer smiled lightly.

"We have decided on one king, with the rest of the kings being advisors and marshals under him. We have yet to decide on who that king shall be."

"And how shall you do that?"

"Trial by combat."

"And yet democracy fails," Thranduil said wryly.

"What do you mean?" Éomer asked, puzzled.

"Never mind." Thranduil said dryly. "I hope you do not mean combat to death?"

"Nay, of course not."

"Good, I really do not want to lose anyone to anything other than Morgoth's whims." He turned his attention to Aragorn, who was smiling.

"What of you? What shall I expect of you?" Thranduil asked. Aragorn's smile broadened.

"We have already decided upon a High King," Aragorn bowed his head a little. "You look upon him."

"Elros is not the High King?"

"My forefather wished the duty fell upon my shoulders. He deemed it befitting, since all the bloodlines of the Elvem Houses joined when I was born and when I wedded Arwen."

"Splendid," Thranduil said with satisfaction. "Now that only leaves the Dwarves and the Elves."

"The Dwarves will handle our own," Gímli rumbled. His voice was deep and rough but his tone and accent was cultured. "We have our lore to aid is in choosing an able ruler."

"But we need to know who that is." Elrond protested. Gímli looked at him balefully, his eyes narrowed under thick eyebrows.

"That is only a Dwarf's affair to know."

"I believe you have just been put in your place, Elrond," Thranduil murmured. He caught Aragorn hide a smile out of the corner of his eye. "Well, this has been a lovely chat. But now I am needed elsewhere."

He excused himself, leaving Elrond and the others to discuss other topics that did not require his attention. He walked along the narrow corridor deep within his Halls before realising Berethil was behind him. Berethil caught his arm and drew him to the side.

"We have incoming visitors." Berethil said to him gravelly, urgently. "There are not friendlies."

Thranduil frowned.

"Any contact through communication?"

"None. But your father believes they are messengers from Morgoth."

"Let them approach, but keep the sentinels at the ready." One wrong move and Thranduil planned to kill them all to send a message.

Later he stood outside at the long, wide doors of his Halls and watched as one of his escort vehicles brought the messengers to him. It was a small team of five Orcs that snarled at them. The Elves, Men and Dwarves loitering nearby watched them with open hostility. Then another member of the team stepped out. It took him a moment to recognise the hulking, heavily deformed figure descending from the craft. When he finally did, his heart nearly stopped in surprise and revulsion.

It was Wolf.

True to his nickname, the Man bared his teeth revealing two rows of sharply pointed teeth as if filed on purpose. The rest of his body was packed with steroids in corded, bulging muscles.

"What have they turned him into?" Legolas breathed, shocked.

"More of an animal and less of a human," Oropher said, disgusted. "And he seems happy about it, the cur."

"Thranduil?" Elrond murmured. "Who is he?"

"Darkness that took the form of a Man." Thranduil answered. "Legolas, keep all weapons at bay. I do not want him injured or dead until he delivers his message. Then I will decide what to do with him."

"Thranduil," Oropher stopped his son as he was leaving. "You cannot kill a messenger in cold blood."

"This one I will," Thranduil said grimly. "You do not know what he has done."

Oropher grabbed his elbow in an iron fist.

"We have honoured messengers worse than this one." Oropher said to him as he looked deep into his eyes. "You will not shed his blood. If you do, there is no difference between him and you."

Thranduil tightened his lips and said nothing.

"When he dies, his death will bring nothing but joy and relief." Thranduil muttered. "Fine, I will spare him. But I hope that we may meet again, so that I may kill him." Thranduil passed by his son. As he did, he paused only briefly at Legolas' shoulder.

"Keep Maedhros away." Thranduil whispered in Legolas' ear. Legolas answered with a short nod.

His soldiers escorted them into the throne room, where the Orcs were stopped at the doorway and only the Man continued to him. Thranduil went on to sit on his throne. He heard a snarl and the warning tone of his guards. Looking behind him, he saw Wolf tried to follow him but was stopped by his guards who held naked blades in their hands.

"Unfriendly," Wolf sneered. "And here I heard about Mirkwood hospitality."

"It doesn't extend to you." Thranduil said coldly. "Just be glad that I did not have you killed."

"Still holding a grudge over that little girl?" Wolf asked, baring a grin. "You have to admit, she was a pretty one-"

"You should stop talking." Thranduil said. "If my subjects main or kill, I will not stop them or hold them accountable. Say your piece and crawl back to your master."

Wolf grinned, showing rows of white teeth and ample amount of his gums.

"Morgoth offers a treaty." Wolf drawled. "An agreement for the next twenty years. Both sides are newly awakened. It will take time for us to generate our strengths. Morgoth only wishes for an honourable fight."

One of the Elves stepped out of the crowd gathering by the pillars in the throne room. Thranduil quickly recognised him.

"Morgoth knows nothing of honour." Fingolfin said coldly.

The doors of the hall slammed wide open. Maedhros stood there dressed in deep blue robes, with Maglor by his side. Maedhros took one deadly look at Wolf and launched at him with a loud cry.

"Maedhros, don't!" Thranduil shouted. He ran forward but Elrond appeared out of nowhere and reached him first, grabbing Maedhros by his elbows. Maedhros was taller and stronger, struggling to break free. Thranduil reached him and pushed Maedhros back against Elrond's chest. Thranduil threw a glance at Maglor and found him similarly caught in grip of Legolas and Oropher. Thranduil returned his attention to Maedhros.

"Stand down," Thranduil said quietly. "This is not the time."

"I want him!" Maedhros hissed. His eyes met Thranduil's and Thranduil nearly recoiled. Maedhros' eyes were bright, as if a flame burned deep inside them. Maedhros was still struggling. "Thranduil, I want his blood spilled on the floor and his life slowly draining from him!" Wolf stood where he was, smirking. His eyes glowed with crazed delight.

"I know." Thranduil hissed. "But you are not helping." Together Thranduil and Maglor dragged Maedhros out of the throne room, ignoring his curses and his attempts to break free. Thranduil paid no attention to the stares and whispers left in his wake. He quickly searched for the nearest door, opened it and pulled Maedhros inside. He closed the door with his foot before releasing Maedhros.

A quick survey of the room revealed a small square room used for storage.

"What were you thinking?" Thranduil asked at last, shifting his eyes to Maedhros. The Noldo looked large and imposing with his murderous frown and tense muscles. Thranduil was unaffected.

"You can't trust him." Maedhros said with difficulty.

"I know. Wolf doesn't exactly inspire trust."

"I meant Morgoth." Maedhros said. Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "He will betray you." Maedhros met Thranduil's eyes. "Morgoth only keeps his word as long as it suits his purpose. As soon as he realises he has more to gain from war than alliance, he will change sides."

"I know it's a trap." Thranduil said. "Even as I appreciate your efforts to help me realise it. But we need this treaty. Morgoth is a fool if he tries to attack us when his army is still grouping. And we need time to rally ourselves."

"You don't understand." Maedhros said. "You are not agreeing to this because these are your terms. You are agreeing to his terms and he will break them when it suits him the best."

Thranduil suppressed a sigh and looked at Maedhros in a new light. The Elf was reborn but that never hid the look of his eyes. Maedhros' memories, pains and experiences shone in his eyes. If anyone knew of Morgoth's betrayal, it was him.

"I am agreeing to his terms, Maedhros." Thranduil murmured. Maedhros withdrew his hand as if Thranduil burned him. "I need time. That is all I need."

"Time is one thing you never have when it comes to Morgoth." Maedhros retorted. Then he exhaled, visibly calming himself. "But I assume you will know that soon enough." With that, the Noldo turned on his heel and left while running his hands through his hair. Thranduil watched him go, feeling self-doubt rise in his chest.

"Do we reject his offer?" Elrond asked in a low voice.

"We can't." Thranduil said quietly. "Maedhros fails to realise one thing. If I don't accept, Morgoth's armies would swoop down and destroy us all even if they are unorganised."

When all was done and the papers bearing the signs were taken away, Thranduil watched his soldiers escort Wolf and his men away.

"I tried to stop him." Legolas said quietly. They both knew who he was speaking of. "But as soon as he saw Wolf, it was as if something inside him just snapped."

"I want him dead." Thranduil said quietly. "Not only for what he did to Dawn and all the pain he caused after that. I want it also because that man has to be the embodiment of pure evil that can be present within a single man." Legolas hummed an agreement.

"I want it too, but now was not the time." Legolas said. "He will find his death, but I have a feeling that it won't be by our hand." Legolas ran a hand through his hair, ruining the braids. "The treaty papers were just for our own sake, for a false sense of security."

"I know." Thranduil said. Legolas sighed.

"I'll double the watch, then. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"I think there is more to Fion's story. And I have a feeling you are keeping it from me."

Thranduil didn't answer.

"He isn't a traitor, is he?"

Thranduil looked at Legolas to find his son staring at him intently.

"The thing about politics and war," he said at last, "is that it is never simple."

And then Thranduil left without waiting for a reply.

oOo

Arodien walked aimlessly through the halls, feeling troubled. Her husband was adamant that they needed this treaty with the enemy. But she shared the same concerns Maedhros had.

A predator may wear a different skin, but it was still a predator.

Arodien exhaled through her nose and rubbed her arms. The cold in the halls was tolerable now that the halls were warmed with in built heaters. Slowly but surely, the overwhelming population of reborn that resided within the halls were transported to other countries. Ingwë took the people who once lived under his rule with him. He departed early and without giving farewell to Thranduil. Arodien felt the old headache coming back. Elven monarchs and their pride, she thought to herself and snorted.

She ascended the many steps leading to the smithies high above the Halls. They were built this high, so that the smoke escaped from the many vents chiselled into the side of the mountain. It was the work of extreme craftsmanship, the kind that awed many. Amrod even went as far as to have his people chisels beautiful designs across the wall, joining all of the vents together in a large geometric display.

She heard the sounds of many hammers hitting on metal before she turned around the corner. Two large open doors made the entrance of the smithies. When she walked through, she was met with boiling hot air and immediately regretted leaving her fur-lined cloak on. The sound of hammers echoed in her eardrums. She walked unnoticed for a long while as many Elves bent over their work. She found many Dwarves as well, working alongside them. Each Elf or Dwarf working in a personalised station, separated from each other like platforms in the shape of squares. Each one was a separate forge.

She finally came upon the person she sought, working with his back towards her. Arodien watched Maeglin silently, her presence still unknown to him. Maeglin worked diligently in the forge, his each swing smooth and precise. Muscles rippled from his arm and down his back with every movement. He was coated with the reddish light from the fire and the sheen of sweat. Sparks flew as he worked. She wondered if he blocked his ears against the noise.

"I thought I might find you here." Arodien nearly shouted when his hammer raised again. Maeglin stopped mid-swing and looked behind him.

"My lady," he greeted with a nod of his head. He returned his project into the fire and quickly wiped himself with a towel nearby before pulling on his discarded shirt. "I did not expect to see you here. Is my company required?"

"I had some free time, and I heard you were here." She folded her hands in front of her, glad she left behind her cloak and opted for a light dress. The forge was very warm. "I did not know you had this talent."

Maeglin's lips twisted and his eyes became distant as if he remembered an unpleasant memory.

"The talent comes from my father, I am afraid. He spent his life in the forge, and me with him."

"How did you gain permission for the forge?"

"Lady Berethil gave it to me, after j had approvals from your husband's trusted Elves." There was a short pause. "Does it displease you? I will discontinue if you wish."

Arodien was not surprised by the question itself but she was surprised by the sincerity behind it. He truly wanted an honest answer from her. It was even more surprising since her last encounter with him was unpleasant. At the moment, he was courteous.

"No," she said with a shake of her head and an assuring smile. "It does not trouble to me." He surprised her again by smiling at her. At once, the harsh lines of his face softened. His portrait-like handsomeness diminished, replaced by a charming visage that was meant to turn heads of anyone who considered him interesting. It was wondrous that a small smile could do so much.

"I did not enjoy forgery," Maeglin confessed. "Not after I saw the dangers of my father's works." His face clouded. "My mother's life was taken by the very spear he forged."

"Yes." Arodien murmured. "I know the tale." Maeglin smiled mockingly.

"Who doesn't?" He asked. Arodien did not answer. He hesitated again. "I think I may have to apologise for what transpired last time we spoke. I was outspoken, and said things that I should not have said."

Arodien studied him carefully. The apology was sincere and Maeglin's face was guarded.

"I forgive you." Arodien said with great dignity. She folded her hands before her and held them on her belly. "I agree with you. There are things about this world that I do not understand. I am, as Men would say, a woman in a man's world. It is time I learned how it functions."

Maeglin took a long time to answer. He slowly twisted his fingers in the cloth, removing sweat and soot.

"There are no rules in this world when it comes to war and politics." Maeglin said at last. He tossed the towel to the side and leaned back on the table, folding his arms. "All that you require are wits," then his smiled wryly, "and a jaded sense of the world. You have the former and clearly not the latter."

"Is that the same for my husband?" She asked him. Maeglin tilted his head, his look now thoughtful.

"Not truly," he said at last. "Your husband is experienced in some sense but he expects... How shall I say it? He expects results that are more fantastical than realistic."

Arodien inclined her head. She hated to say it, but Maeglin was right. It was time she told him what she wanted.

"I would like for you to teach me." Arodien said finally. Maeglin started, surprised and nearly gaped at her. It was an amusing sight, watching the reborn traitor struggle with his emotions. Then he closed his mouth with an audible click.

"That was not what I meant." Maeglin said stiffly as he turned away. He studiously inspected the half finished project lying on his anvil.

"Oh, I know what you meant." Arodien laughed. "You meant to scoff at our decisions, believing you would have made different, far intelligent ones than us. And then you meant to dazzle me with your superior logic. But here is the thing; if you mean what you say, then teach me."

"Teach you what, exactly?"

"Teach me to be a ruler, in these hard times."

Maeglin's look darkened.

"That will be a hard errand. You lack the cruelty, the coldness for being a ruler, my lady. Same goes for your husband."

"My father once said I was mouldable. It's time to test his words."

Maeglin fell into a deep, lengthy silence.

"If that is what you wish," Maeglin said at last. "Then it shall be done."

Arodien looked upon him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Maeglin. That is good of you." Arodien said. Maeglin nodded once and said nothing but she sensed he had something to say.

"Speak your mind, Maeglin," she encouraged. "I told you once before. I will not task you for anything you say."

"You are far too trusting, my lady." Maeglin said finally. "You look upon me and think that I am reformed solely because I realised my mistakes in my first life. What makes you so certain that I will only do it all again, this time without making a mistake?" Arodien smiled up at him.

"You wouldn't." She murmured with conviction. "I see it in your eyes."

"I see many things in your eyes, my lady." Maeglin replied. "And naivety it one of them."

"There is a difference then, between what you see and what I see. You see what a person is whereas I see the potential for which a person can change." Arodien tugged back a fallen strand behind her ear. "You would not harm us. This, I know."

"It is not just me that lives in Arda capable of harming you or anyone else." Maeglin said irritably. "None understand. You, or your husband or your kin or your people. No one understands what I mean, save perhaps that Man who betrayed his own people- Gríma, was it?"

"Or maybe the problem only exists in your mind?"

Maeglin gave a bark of laughter. He turned his attention to his project and reached for his hammer.

"I have no need to reason with you." Maeglin said, his powerful back towards her. "I will let you know everything I know. What you do or do not do with the knowledge is none of my concern."

With that, he began his hammering.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Guest: Many thanks for your lovely review! I have a bit of a difficult RL, but I love this story and I try to this story my most attention and love. Hoping to see you in future chapters! :)


	10. Legolas

**Chapter 9**

Only one rule remains. Kill or be killed.

* * *

Maglor looked out and shook his head. They had lowered the hanger door, and they stood at the edge. The American soil rolled beneath their plane.

"Thranduil struck a treaty with Morgoth." Maglor wearily told Fingon as he sat down beside him on a ledge of their craft. Their feet dangled a few inches above ground. Fingon, who was leaning back on the palms of his hands, frowned.

"Unwise. Morgoth is not to be trusted." Fingon said.

"That's what Maedhros told Thranduil." Maglor admitted. "But the Woodland King wouldn't hear of it."

"What do you think of this Thranduil Oropherion?" Fingon asked.

"I do not know." Maglor said after a pause. "There was a time when I thought he would make a staunch ally but ever since Glaweth died and Fion turned out to be a traitor... He has secrets, Fingon. And I find it difficult to uncover them."

"Thranduil is not only a Sinda, but he is also an Elf who learned from his hard life." Fingon said. "It makes sense that he keeps his secrets close to his chest."

"It is an admirable quality and on any other day, I would admire it." Maglor said. "But not today, when his secrets might hurt the ones I love."

They hit an air pocket and the craft bounced a little. Maglor and Fingon grabbed on to the edge as their legs flailed.

"This is dangerous." Fingon commented.

"You never shied away from danger." Maglor pointed out. Fingon bared his teeth in a grin. Then he sobered.

"Would you think that Thranduil has secrets that will in time harm others?"

"Considering his recent incidents, I'd expect so." Maglor answered. He leaned back and enjoyed the wind playing with his hair, over his face and clothes. "What do you think? You were always good on intuition."

"I think he would never bring anyone harm on purpose, but he will protect some more than others. Very much like us."

"Then perhaps it is better to find out." Maglor fell silent, thinking. "We can never have only one High King. It will never bode well for us. We will only fight amongst ourselves and I doubt there is any Elf capable of reuniting all of us under one banner."

"Our history is a problem," Fingon agreed.

Maglor heard a sharp whistle through his earpiece. He cursed and tugged on his ear to lessen the ringing.

"Get these fixed," Maglor growled through the comm. link.

"We will be reaching Los Angeles soon." The pilot answered instead. Maglor glanced at Fingon who watched him alertly.

"Come on," Maglor said. "They need to close the hanger. We'll touch down soon."

Fingon nodded and they headed inside.

oOo

Húro was restless again.

It felt as if the ring was spoiling for a fight. Thranduil absently twisted it around his finger, letting some of its power seep out. It curled in the air, igniting it with lightning. Water droplets appeared on all surfaces close to Thranduil which quickly froze in place.

"Stop that," Maedhros said mildly.

"Does it bother you?" Thranduil asked, grinning.

"Yes."

Thranduil let loose some more of Húro's power, dropping the temperature of the room by several degrees.

"Thranduil..."

Elrond grabbed Thranduil's hand and rugged. When Thranduil met his eyes, he found them cold and harsh.

"Continue toying with your Ring and I will slice it off your finger," Elrond said with deadly calm. "And you know I will carry out my threat."

Thranduil wrenched his hand free.

"You aren't any fun." Thranduil teased, trying to provoke Elrond. But the latter only frowned and kept quiet. The room's temperature rose steadily to normal.

"If all of you are done playing," Miranda began. "We need to discuss some serious matters." Kate and Alice stood beside her, both with their arms folded.

"Go on," Elrond said, waving a hand. "I'll keep these two children under check."

For some reason, that struck Maedhros as particularly funny.

"I think the Rohirrim should go North." Kate said.

"Ah? And why?" Thranduil asked.

"Because their ways are similar to the ways of the Vikings," Kate said. "They have more in common. We will be able to make more allies that way."

"True. We should have half the settlements of the Rohirrim in the North and the rest in the so-called America."

Miranda gave him a side along look of disapproval.

"I call it so-called because now its government is gone and Morgoth rules instead." Thranduil said impatiently. "Really, Miranda."

"It's still my land," Miranda said with folded arms.

"And we will claim it. Right now, Maglor has gone to America and will scout for potential allies. Then we will send the Rohirrim there." He paused. "America should be called another name now. This is getting disturbing." Elrond hummed in agreement.

"It will all come in time," Maedhros said. "Many places will be called different names in the years to come."

"What else?"

"The Gondorians will spread, most likely. Some I will take to Russia. The rest will stay here."

"I will ask Aragorn and Éomer to discuss this further with their fellow monarchs." Thranduil said. "Are we done? The day has barely begun and I have much to do."

"Oh, no. We aren't done yet."

"What do you mean?" Thranduil looked at him quizzically.

"One Race is still left on deciding who the High King is."

Thranduil stared at Elrond uncomprehendingly. Elrond shot him a significant glance. Thranduil suddenly understood.

"Crap," He swore.

oOo

"Legolas, the next time we plan to scope out a military facility, let's do it without me."

Legolas barely stopped his eyes from rolling.

"Stop whining," Legolas advised. The comm. link buzzed as it opened and closed. "I thought Elrond's sons were meant to be proud and unafraid."

Elrohir's voice cut in before Elladan could retort.

"I am," Elrohir said smoothly. "I can't say the same for my brother."

"Blast you," Elladan muttered. "You know I don't like it when we separate."

"We cover more ground this way." Legolas said.

"Right, and not realize when one of us is in his death throes."

"Elladan always has a good sense of humor." Elrohir joked. Legolas laughed.

"Enemy spotted!" Nimon called over the comm. "We are going in to engage."

"Which side?" Legolas asked.

"North wing!"

"What kind of enemy?" Elrohir demanded.

"Spiders!" Nimon answered. Shooting sounded through the comm. Link.

"They'll need backup." Legolas said immediately.

"Then let us go!"

They met right at the entrance of the north wing. Legolas assessed the scene before him swiftly. There were three spiders in the corridor, each so large that their bodies lifted a foot off the ground on long black, spiny limbs. Nimon and the rest of the Rangers battled two of them. The third one pretended to be dead and slowly turned on its side to catch an unsuspecting Ranger at his blind spot.

Elrohir raised his rifle and shot the third one multiple times on its exposed belly.

"Wrong choice," Elrohir said to it.

Elladan and Legolas joined the rest of the Elves. Legolas unsheathed his knives and crept behind one of the spiders and slicing through the joints of the back limbs. It twitched and screamed in pain before turning around in search for him. But Legolas already crawled underneath its soft belly and embedded both his knives into its body. He rolled out quickly before the spider collapsed.

Elladan and the rest of the Elves were locked in melee contact with the spider. Elrohir stood a few paces in the back, aiming his rifle. His shots were well-aimed, catching the spider in the eyes.

They huddled in a rough circle around the dead spiders while Elladan tended to the few Elves who were injured. None had serious wounds.

"Judging from the number of spines on their limbs, they are all fairly young." Nimon observed, sitting on his haunches.

"They are the same kind found in our own forest in Mirkwood."

"Shelob is quite busy." Legolas murmured. "We need to scour the area. Find if there are any more spiders. And then we need to claim this facility as our own and gather the Intel."

They worked cautiously through the facility and were relieved to find that apart from a few nests of eggs, they were no more spiders. They burned the nests. They found some rooms were full of webbed cocoons emanating horrific stenches. Legolas sliced on open and found a rotting corpse within.

"That explains what happened to the staff." He remarked.

"The wires have been chewed in some places," Nimon said in disgust, inspecting the power lines running along the walls of the same room. "That explains the lack of power in some areas of the facility. Spiders will try anything for food these days."

"Which means we will need to repair the facility," Legolas sighed heavily.

"Well, at least we have the facility." Elrohir said.

"Or what's left of it." Elladan said wryly.

oOo

Maglor slowly woke to the chilly atmosphere of his craft. He pushed back his soft green blanket and peered at Fingon. He was wide awake, leaning against a wall and staring out of the window.

"Arda has changed." Fingon said. "I never realised how much."

"Funny, I never felt the change drastically. Perhaps adapting to change does that to you."

"You were always quick to adapt to change," Fingon said with a smile.

"I am not sure if that is a compliment." Maglor said. Fingon laughed as Maglor joined him by the window.

"Where are we?" Maglor asked.

"California."

"Ah, sun and palm trees and celebrities' dilemma," Maglor muttered, "wonderful."

Fingon was serious, on the other hand.

"How many do you think survived?" His cousin asked.

"Celebrities?"

"I do not know what the word means."

"Singers. Dancers. Stagers. Actors. They make themselves famous by performing one stunt or the other." Maglor peered out in the gloom. "Civilians- ordinary people with no experience with weaponry- may be still are alive if they have a shred of sensibility. I cannot say the same for the air-headed celebrities."

"You don't hold a good opinion of them," Fingon said in silent reproach.

"Get used to it." Maglor muttered. "I was handed the short straw with this country."

Fingon fixed him with an unblinking stare.

"If you are going to be like that, I will throw you in the nearest mound of waste." Fingon said flatly.

"Alright, alright, I'll keep quiet."

"What worries me is that we didn't face opposition coming here. Either the enemy is amassing his forces or we are walking into a trap."

"A little bit of both, actually," Maglor concluded. "Morgoth is wise enough to gather his strength first. And also, he knows we are far too inland now. We have nowhere to hide and no reinforcement will come. We are on our own now."

"Splendid," Fingon muttered.

When the city of Las Angeles came into view, Maglor's heart nearly stopped.

The once thriving city was now a skeleton of its former self. The skyscrapers were broken and smoking. The streets were empty. There was barely any sign of life. Many of the shops were either shuttered and a few were broken and looted.

"Ai, Elbereth," Maglor breathed, horror dawning on his face. "What happened here?"

oOo

Thranduil scowled at the laptop before him. Then he pressed the enter button again.

"This is King Thranduil speaking, requesting an audience with Lady Galadriel," Thranduil said and then released the button. Nothing answered him. He frowned further and pressed the button again. "Galadriel," Thranduil spoke flatly. "Stop hiding and answer my bloody messages."

Silence. No answer.

Thranduil glared at the screen. It was not the first time Celeborn and Galadriel ignored his summons and rejected them. Neither of them had the confidence in him when he ascended the throne after Oropher's death. Relations became tense after that.

He heard a gentle knock on his door.

"Come in," he called over his shoulder. The door creaked open and Berethil appeared.

"The Elven royals and nobles are meeting," she said. Her hair was pulled in a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. She proved to be an efficient advisor, feeling in the role of Thorontur in such a way that Thranduil missed his old friend and yet felt immensely grateful for the substitute. "You are the only one left."

"Alright," Thranduil said wearily, dreading the meeting. As Berethil began to retreat, he called after her, "Berethil, who do you think is fit to lead the Elves?"

"Not a single Elf," Berethil answered immediately. Thranduil raised an eyebrow and began to reprimand her when she continued, "I'd imagine you will need more than just one king to lead the Elves."

Thranduil leaned against the chair with his back hitting the wood with a loud thump. He studied her pensively.

"Why'd you say that?"

"The Elves are too many, and there are too many differences. The Silvan and the Noldor are like fire and water. Not one could reunite them all." She pauses and then studied Thranduil with such intensity that it made him squirm. "I wouldn't mind following you as our High King." She left him still sitting there, bewildered and mouth gaping.

When he finally reached the meeting room, he found that an argument was buzzing amongst the Elves gathered.

Thranduil instinctively scanned the room. He found Maedhros seated in corner, his chair in a position where it allowed him the entire room in his sight. He was slouched over, brooding like a lazy lion watching his prey. Elrond sat beside him, calm and controlled. He found Gil-Galad as well, seated by Thingol. Both looked solemn, though Thingol nearly looked apoplectic. Thranduil guessed that the meeting had started before he came.

"I thought we were supposed to wait until everyone was present." Thranduil said loudly in an overly pleasant tone. He took a chair and relaxed into it.

"What happened while I was absent?" He asked the room in general.

"Trust me, you haven't missed anything," Elrond said lowly. Maedhros chuckled at that. Gil-Galad only shook his head.

"That will mean we haven't set aside our differences yet. Why can't we all just play along?"

"I will not work with him or his kin." Thingol said, waving a finger at Maedhros. "Let them choose another king for the Noldor."

Maedhros regarded Thingol with a disinterested look.

"Come now. Do some justice." Maedhros drawled. "You are a terrible ruler yourself, unable to protect his own and unable to keep his promises. I wouldn't hold any trust to your kingship."

Thingol turned red with rage and some of the Elves, including Elrond and Dior, protested.

"You are no honourable creature yourself," Dior said coldly. "Who was it that invaded my domain and slain many of my subjects. My family had to flee and my sons lost their lives because of you and your family's infernal Oath!"

Maedhros narrowed his eyes at Dior. Thranduil watched him, an unpleasant feeling pricking his scalp. He had seen Maedhros in different moods but this was different. Here, Maedhros was cold and even cruel. He looked at Dior as though he saw a vermin.

"You misunderstand me." Maedhros said coldly. His eyes held a cold gleam that sent ugly shivers down Thranduil's spine. "My duty is to my people and their protection. For their sake, I will become a tyrant if need be. I will kill, pillage and plunder to make sure they live in peace." Maedhros' deadly calm made his speech even easier to believe.

"You are mad." Thingol whispered in shock and open loathing. "You have not changed. You are still a kinslayer!" Maedhros shrugged once.

"Like I said; I will do what I must for my people. There are no boundaries." Thranduil had enough.

"You sounds like a hypocrite, Thingol," Thranduil interrupted. "Did you not hold back the Silmaril from the Noldor? Did you not refuse to send aid whenever there was a plea for help? You did what you could to help your people. Maedhros does the same, even if his sense of morality is more flexible than most." Maedhros chuckled at that. A headache blossomed. A storm within Húro churned, begging to be unleashed. Thingol rounded on Thranduil.

"Surely you do not mean to ally yourself to him!" Thingol pointed a finger at Maedhros. "He'd sooner leave you in the dust as soon as he considers you weak!"

"I do not mean to be weak." Thranduil said coolly. "I have enough strength to carry my own weight, so I have nothing to fear from Maedhros. Also, he and I have the same goal in mind; destruction of the Enemy. So, in all broad senses, we are in agreement." Maedhros' grin turned smug at the end of Thranduil's speech. Thranduil rubbed his forehead a little.

"You stand before me, thinking you can easily manage Maedhros and the alliance you have with him. But I have no confidence in your skill of kingship," Thingol snapped.

"Now see here," Elrond began hotly. But Thranduil's eyes turned cold.

"Thingol, you seem to forget that I am now your equal in rank. You and I may be related by blood but that is as far as common traits go. You have a different approach to matters when you were king and you have not learned from your mistakes even after you suffered death from it. Now, I am not perfect but I intend not to make the same mistakes as I did when I was younger and king. All those mistakes were based on biased thoughts and foolish notions that we Elves were far superior. Well, guess what? Death doesn't discriminate!" The last sentence caused many in the room to flinch. It made sense; many of them were reborn.

"I won't stand back and watch you make such foolish decisions, boy." Thingol spat, light flashing in his eyes. Thranduil's lips unfurled in a feral grin.

"If you don't want my decisions," Thranduil said coldly. "Then you are welcome to leave my stronghold."

Thingol glared at him. Thranduil met his dark gaze calmly. Then Thingol shook his head.

"What happened to you?" Thingol demanded. Thranduil allowed a small smile appear on his lips.

"I changed." Thranduil replied dryly. "It was either that or end up in a grave like you."

Thingol tightened his jaw and wordlessly left, slamming the door behind him in the process. Dior now stared at Thranduil with a condemning glance. Thranduil sighed and met his gaze.

"You are nothing but a puppy in my eyes, Dior," Thranduil said bluntly. "You worship Thingol and think him flawless. You lack ingenuity, Dior. And that is the main reason of your fall."

"I do not understand you. I will never ally myself to them," Dior jerked his chin towards Maedhros.

"I told you once long ago," Thranduil said. "When you first ascended the throne; you cannot be picky in the matters of your allies. You never learned that lesson."

Dior threw an ugly word at Maedhros' direction and turned on his heel. Thranduil watched him go, his emotions in turmoil.

"Are you alright?" Thranduil asked Maedhros. His smirk was gone. The first son of Fëanor looked tired.

"I am fine," Maedhros said, subdued. "You needn't have done that."

"I protect my friends."

"You honour me by calling me that," Maedhros said. "I shall try my best to earn your friendship. You should know; my friends never fair better in war."

"Then it's a good thing you don't consider me your friend."

Maedhros laughed suddenly, shook his head and left. Thranduil buried his head in his hands and sighed. When he looked up, he found Elrond studying him.

"Worried about Thingol?" Elrond prodded.

He frowned and shook his head.

"Thingol is mostly words and opinions." Thranduil said. "He doesn't act, and perhaps that is his flaw. But no, my relatives are not my problem. At least, not the ones who are here."

"Then is it something else on your mind?" Elrond asked.

"Yes, something else is on my mind." Thranduil muttered. "Lorien has not yet contacted us after we sent the summons. Why won't Galadriel answer?"

oOo

Maglor peered out the window as they approached the city.

"I don't understand." Maglor said worriedly. "It's never been this quiet."

"I thought you didn't like America."

"I didn't. I don't. But that doesn't mean that I never visited." Maglor frowned. "And they were always some kind of activity going on. Now... It's a ghost town." They didn't deserve this, Maglor thought silently. For all their flaws, this was not what they ought to be reduced to.

Maglor tore his gaze away from the window and made his way to the cockpit. He paused by a soldier.

"Is there any life through the city?"

The soldier shook his head.

"The scans are empty."

"How is that possible?" Fingon wondered, surprised.

"Morgoth either enslaved all of them. Or maybe they are hiding underground." Maglor mused.

"Underground?"

"Maybe in the subways, or perhaps in the sewers. I have heard of underground channels that were still capable of living quarters."

"Subways?" Fingon asked.

"I'll show you what I mean."

"Look." The soldier said suddenly. He pointed at the streets. Maglor peered through the compressed window glass. Creatures prowled the roads, on four limbs and bearing shaggy coats.

"Wargs," Maglor said grimly. Then he caught sight of the multi-legged creatures crawling up the sides of ruined skyscrapers. "And spiders."

"Ungoliant," Fingon hissed. "But where is she? She is no small creature." None of them ever saw the dark being by their own eyes but she was described as a large bulbous spider, darker than night. Her hide was tough and impenetrable except by Morgoth's hand. From her, she gave birth to many spiders. Her spawn grew in numbers like vermin and terrorised regions by numbers.

Now it seemed, this city was their target.

"I don't know." Maglor pondered. The opening of the Void set free many creatures that were large and deadly. Not all of them would have made it to Arda. If it were so, then Arda would have been in chaos from the very moment the Void cast out its prisoners.

So it meant some were either dead, or captured. Possibly some of the dark creatures had nothing to do with the war, so they disappeared into the deep recesses of the Earth never to resurface.

Maglor handed Fingon a rifle.

"It's already loaded." Maglor aid, showing him how to unload and load the gun. Then he showed him the trigger. "Aim and pull. It's that simple."

"Better than bow and arrow." Fingon noted. Maglor gave him a belt loaded with more ammunition before showing him how to change cartridges.

"Much," Maglor agreed.

They descended on the playground of a school.

"What's that?" Fingon asked, pointing at a building. Maglor looked and felt dread.

"A school," Maglor said quietly. "For children to learn and play." The doors were wide open. "Come. I need to see."

Something inside Maglor rebelled. He knew only sorrow awaited him in the school. But his feet moved as if with their own will. Maglor reached the top of the stairs and looked in.

The inside of the school was heartbreaking. Blood spattered over the floor and walls. Bodies were strewn across the floor. The stench of blood was overpowering.

For Maglor, it was overwhelming. Memories flashed in his mind, when bloodlust from his Oath governed him. He remembered cries of terror and grief following his footsteps while he pillaged homes and slaughtered everyone in his path. He remembered the red from the fires and blood pooling around his feet.

"No child should have to see war." Maglor murmured. Sorrow sat on his heart like a rock. Fingon knelt.

"Bodies are at least a week old. Probably more." Fingon said. "Should we bury them?"

Maglor paused, then shook his head regretfully.

"There is no time." Maglor said slowly. "Come. We must go."

Fingon stayed a moment longer with a bowed head. Then he finally stirred, murmured a prayer and joined Maglor. They joined their small party of eight others, the rest manning the craft just in case.

Maglor led them through a residential area. They walked slowly on the road in a rough line. The houses were arranged neatly on either side, but they were empty and deserted. Some of the cars were parked in the driveway; others were abandoned on the road. Some of the houses had their doors partly open.

"It is almost as if they left in a hurry." One of the Elves murmured.

"Or as if they were forced to leave." Another murmured. A multi-coloured ball rolled onto the road.

"Man, woman and child," Fingon said. "But where are they now?"

"That is indeed a question." Maglor said. He caught motion just out of his line of vision. Maglor turned towards it. It came from behind a home.

"Maglor?" Fingon asked. The creature slowly came into view.

"Ambush!" Maglor roared. The word barely left him when the spider, nearly as large as a house gave a whistling shriek and lunged at them. Maglor and the others scattered, the spider now landing where they all once stood. Maglor ducked behind an abandoned car.

"There are three more!" An Elf shouted.

Maglor stepped back from the safety of the car and shot at one of the spiders. The first one he saw was the largest; the rest were either young or a different kind of spider entirely. One of the spiders shot its web at an Elf, pinning his leg to the ground. Maglor immediately began to shoot at that spider before it engulfed the Elf. Another comrade ran up to help him.

"Grenade," Maglor shouted. The shout echoed amongst his companions as he pulled the pin and threw it at the spiders. He ducked behind the car again. A blast vibrated through the air and ground a few seconds later, followed by screams of agony and pain from the spiders. Another explosion shook the ground, presumably thrown by another Elf.

Maglor looked. Two of the spiders already lay dead. One lay twitching on its side. The largest of them still stood, running towards a nearby house for shelter.

Fingon unsheathed his sword and charged with a loud yell.

"Fingon, no!" Maglor shouted. But the Elf was heedless. He watched as Fingon launched himself at the wounded spider, leaping onto a car and then onto the creature itself. The spider twitched and swayed, trying to dislodge him but Fingon kept his footing and embedded his sword right into the spider's tough head. It shrieked and fell to the ground. Fingon landed in front of the fallen beast, his sword in hand.

"You haven't changed." Maglor said. He didn't wait for a reply; he turned and pursued the fleeing spider instead.

"Maglor!" Fingon cried. He sprinted and caught Maglor by the back of his collar and dragged him back. Some sort of liquid poured over the spider. A torch dropped from the sky and the spider erupted into flames. It screamed and flailed but ultimately died a horrific death.

"What is this?" Maglor wondered, breathing heavily.

"Up there. Look!" Fingon pointed. Someone stood on top of the building, dressed in cargo pants, a white shirt and a black jacket. It was undoubtedly a woman.

"Thank you, friend," Maglor called.

The woman dropped on the ground. She looked him over critically. Maglor studied her in his own fashion. She was incredibly short, barely even reaching his elbow. He judged her to be five foot at most. Her skin was a lighter brown than most, lighter than milk chocolate. Her cheekbones were prominent and her chin jutted outwards. Her almond shaped eyes were brown in colour and full of distrust. Her light brown hair hung in dreadlocks. She held a gun in her hands and while she seemed familiar with it, Maglor doubted she had any sort of formal training.

But then, experience was a harsh teacher.

"You are a fool," she spoke in a clear Southern accent. "The spider would have killed you if you try to fight it in close quarters."

Fingon smothered a laugh beside him, undoubtedly amused of a small woman teaching two grown and experienced Elves how to fight.

"I thank you for your help and your… advice." Maglor paused. "Are there more of you here?"

The woman studied him warily.

"How do I know that you are friendly?" She asked. "You look like that being we saw on the T.V., the one who is the wife of supposedly the King of Mirkwood. You all look people straight out of a book."

"We are real, I assure you." Fingon said.

"And we came here to look for those who are still alive and resisting the presence of such foul creatures." Maglor added. The woman's face shadowed with sorrow.

"There are some of us still fighting but we are not many. These… creatures came with many offerings and promises of wealth, safety and immortality. They followed."

"You and your friends didn't? Why?" Fingon asked.

"I do not trust those who make promises of only good things and do not speak the bad ones."

"Wise girl," Fingon murmured.

"We can help." Maglor said. "We came here to find survivors, to find you. Let us work together and drive these creatures back."

The woman stared at them both, her hands tightening over her rifle until her knuckles turned white. She did not trust them.

"No," the woman stepped back warily. "Not now. I will not take you to our camp. Who can promise that you are friends?"

"Listen-"Maglor began.

"If you are truly friends, then we will meet again on the field. Let us see on which side." She began to step back before walking away. Fingon stepped forward to speak but Maglor stayed him with his hand. Now was not the time.

"I do not know your name." Maglor called to her.

"There is no need. We will meet again soon." She called over her shoulder.

Maglor watched her leave and shook his head.

oOo

 _He stood in a circular room with the thin and light walls the Japanese favoured. Only a single candle flickered feebly in one corner._

 _Thranduil took a tentative step forward, waiting for someone else to come and meet him but no one came. So he waited._

 _There was a silver tree painted on one of the rice paper walls. Its branches curved in circles and its leaves were elegantly curled. Thranduil approached it, one hand rising up._

 _Before his fingers met the paper, the entire wall caught fire and the tree burned._

Thranduil woke blearily, noting the darkness in the room and a blanket covering him. Someone hammered on his door. He rubbed his eyes.

"Come in," he called. He rubbed his eyes some more until sleep disappeared.

"I am sorry to disturb you." Legolas said as his head appeared around the door. Oropher came into view as well. "I know you must be exhausted."

Thranduil nearly snorted. With the Ring slowly altering him and the burden on his shoulders ever increasing, he never had time for himself. "I am always exhausted," Thranduil said bluntly. "Come in. What do we need to talk about?"

His father looked grim. Legolas looked the same. Something was very wrong.

"What is it?"

"Remember Dorian's link into Lórien's database?" Oropher asked.

"Sure I do." Thranduil answered. "What do we have?"

"That's just it." Legolas said. "We have nothing." Thranduil stared.

"I am not sure I follow."

"The Galadhrim, father. They are not answering us. We know that. But they are not communicating with anyone else either. It's as if they have completely disappeared off the face of the earth."


End file.
